#sleep can wait he must be drawn

[pileofpigeons]

Day 1: warm up

#inktobertale2023 #inktobertale #ink sans #sans aus #undertale aus #he’s doing a lil stretching #I did this in a frenzied craze before going directly to bed #sleep can wait he must be drawn #pigeons art

[paperultra]

aries and the turtle.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,169 words Warnings: None

asterism (noun): a group of stars; a constellation; a cluster of stars

The first thought that comes to Sanji’s mind when he sees you curled up on the kitchen floor, rummaging through the box of herbs and spices, is that you’re the single most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Darling,” he says softly, leaning against the doorframe and smiling a bit when you startle, “you could’ve woken me up if you wanted a midnight snack.”

“O-Oh! Um.” Your voice colors the gentle calm of night into something warmer – and like always, he’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame, walking over and squatting down next to you as you scramble to put back a jar of paprika. “I’m sorry, Sanji, I – er, well, um …”

“What are you looking for? I’ll help you.”

Under the yellow glow of the lantern, you seem to shrink. You duck your head and mumble into the collar of your pretty nightshirt. “That chamomile and lavender tea you made a couple nights ago …” you begin hesitantly. “I wanted to make some.” Your voice quiets further. “I can’t sleep.”

Sanji frowns, angling his head to catch a glimpse of your face. You do look a little more haggard than normal, your eyelids heavy, your shoulders burdened. His heart aches. How long had you laid in your hammock, tossing and turning, until you couldn’t stand it anymore?

“I see,” he murmurs. “Let’s make that tea right away, then, shall we?”

Sanji quickly finds the flowers and some lemon rinds he had sun-dried last week. You insist on helping at least a little bit despite his protests for you to just relax, fetching two teacups and setting some water on the stove to boil as he measures the right amount of each ingredient to put into the infuser.

Once the water is ready, steam billowing up past your heads and to the ceiling, he pours it into the teapot and covers it to steep.

(You don’t say anything while the two of you wait, and although Sanji yearns to coax a smile and a sweet conversation from you, he contents himself with the silence as well, which is just as sweet. You sneak glances at him every once in a while, though. He knows because he does the same, and the attention sends a thrill through his chest.)

Time passes. He pours the tea – first for you, then for him.

“Tell me when.” The silence breaks once more as Sanji spoons some honey into your cup.

“That’s good.”

He stirs the tea up, hands it to you. You blow across the top of it and then take a sip as he watches attentively.

“How does the madam like it?” he asks.

You exhale and meet his eyes for a split second before quickly looking away. A small smile touches your lips. “It’s perfect,” you reply from behind the cup. “Thank you, Sanji.”

Warmth stains his cheeks a gentle pink.

“The sky is clear tonight,” he ventures hopefully as he adds two teaspoons of honey for himself. He picks up his cup and gestures at the open door. “Stars and tea pair well together, if you have an appetite for it.”

You bite your bottom lip. His gaze immediately darts down to it, and he swallows, throat suddenly dry.

“Sure,” you whisper.

And so Sanji gains another precious sliver of time with you. Elbows resting on the railing, hot tea and your presence protecting him from the cold, he stands out on the deck of the Going Merry and tilts his head back to look up at the sky.

He knows how much you love the stars. They are one of the few topics you can talk about without your usual shyness, and he thinks of you every time he sees them, pinpricks of pure light shining through the darkness, guiding weary sailors home. Sometimes he thinks you must have been one yourself, carried down from the heavens. Ethereal. Out of reach.

“This time of year,” you say, and Sanji turns his attention over to the stars reflected in your eyes, “you can see my constellation.”

“Yours?” he questions.

“Yes. Those three stars over there.” Your arm stretches out to point at something on the left, your finger tracing an arc in the sky. “In my home village, parents dedicate their newborns to a constellation three days after birth. Mine dedicated me to the turtle.”

A turtle. That fits you incredibly well, he thinks to himself fondly, considering your quiet tenacity. “How come?”

“Turtles represent good luck and a long life.”

“I see. Well, do you think you’ve had good luck so far in life?”

You hum thoughtfully, looking down into your tea.

“I think so,” you say after some time, hushed. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

A chuckle escapes him. “I would argue that you’re the one who’s brought good luck to us, sweetheart.”

You bite back a smile and whisper a small ‘oh’ as he gently bumps your shoulder with his own. Even now, you’re unused to compliments, but no matter; he’ll praise you at every turn until you finally realize you deserve every word of it.

There’s a brief period of silence before he asks, “What do you think my constellation would be?”

“Your constellation?” It doesn’t take long at all before you reply, pointing upward into a spread of stars that he could never even begin to puzzle out, “The ram. Some call it Aries.”

“What does it mean?”

This question seems to fluster you. You cough and stammer for a few seconds. He sips his tea, the beverage sweet and floral on his tongue as he waits.

“Rams … are artists at heart,” you finally say, glancing over at him. Your eyes, normally wary and somber, glitter. “They’re strong and passionate, but also gentle and kind.”

Oh.

Sanji can feel a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. God. Surely, you’ll be the death of him, saying something like that so honestly and with eyes that look like that. He’d move heaven and earth for you if you asked.

“I’ll dedicate my life to living up to those qualities,” he breathes once he can speak again. “Just as much as you’ll live up to yours.”

You take a sharp breath.

“You already do,” he hears you whisper.

And Sanji truly, truly cannot resist anymore.

Your name leaves his lips. He reaches out, hand departing from the dying heat of the teacup and seeking out yours.

You do not pull away when his fingertips brush your cool skin over the railing; instead, you let him turn your hand over until palm touches palm, until the spaces between his fingers are filled with your own and his heart beats to the rhythm of yours.

Sanji squeezes your hand, and every cell in his body begs to falter and fall at your feet.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

The tea cools. But the stars remain as brilliant as ever, and your hand stays warm in his, and everything – everything is beautiful.

#aesthetic words prompt list #opla #one piece #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla sanji #one piece live action #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #trying to write from sanji's pov is like. how can i show that this man is absolutely on his knees all the time for reader #just look at him. just.look.asdhgjkl #also i just think !! looking at the stars would be a great date idea w any of the straw hats while at sea #:<

[homerforsure]

Saw the episode. Ascended to a higher plane. Wrote a small Coda that is as messy as my brain is right now. Bone Apple Tea.

"Heyyyyyy Buck!" Eddie answers the phone with a drawn out salutation that proves Tommy was not lying about him being sent away from the hospital with the good drugs. Or, not lying about the prescription, but about Eddie actually taking them. It wasn't so long ago that Eddie would take enough medicine to avoid being in agony, but never quite enough to actually feel relief. He wouldn't do that for Tommy, however close they are. It's something that Eddie's doing for himself. Buck's stomach was a swarm of butterflies three seconds ago, but that and the floaty happy way Eddie still says his name, has him smiling again in his kitchen.

"Hey Eddie. I, um, I'm sorry to call so late. I just wanted to see how- how you were doing."

"Eh, I'll miss a shift or two. But Doc says I'll be ready to go for playoffs," Eddie answers.

Guilt twists through him, harsh and acidic and Buck says, "Well I'm glad to hear that. They say the team doesn't have a chance without you and your, um, sky dunk." Eddie laughs, giggles really, in reply and Buck says, "I'm sorry, Eddie. I don't know why I did that. I mean- I- I know why. I was jealous of you and- and Tommy-" Buck's heart flips as he says his name and he's afraid the kiss is going to come flying out of his mouth and down the phone line- "But I never wanted you to get hurt like that."

"You wanted me to get hurt different?" Eddie asks, still laughing, but Buck feels stricken.

"No! I- maybe. I don't know what I wanted. I lost my mind for a little bit."

"You were jealous," Eddie repeats.

"Yeah, I was."

A long sigh and Eddie says, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. I was the asshole. I could have- I knocked you out of your shoe."

"Do you have my shoe?" Eddie asks, more focused than he has been the rest of the conversation. Buck can hear him sitting up on the couch.

"Uh, no. No, I gave it to Chim. He's gonna give it to you when he sees you. And probably make about 50 Cinderella jokes."

"Right. He texted me. I remember."

"I'm sure he'll bring it by sooner if you need it. Or he could give it to Tommy." The flush is there again, hot down the back of his neck. Buck doesn't know how he's supposed to do this. Where is he supposed to keep all of this heat and possibility while he waits for Saturday.

"You don't like him."

"Who? Chim? He's growing on me."

"Tommy," Eddie answers in a tone that says duh. "You can't even say his name normal."

Of course Eddie can hear that. Of course he assumes that's the problem after the way Buck has acted since the moment they met the man. He thanks god that he decided to call instead of driving across town and checking on Eddie in person. His cheeks and his ears are burning like fire.

"He can tell, you know. We both can. He said he's going to come talk to you. Gave him your address. Wants to apologize." Eddie must have settled back down on the couch. He sounds sleepier, his sentences getting shorter and more breathy.

"He did. He um. He came by. We talked it out. I told him you guys didn't have anything to apologize for. I was the one who made it weird."

"So weird," Eddie agrees and Buck laughs. "You guys should be friends. He's awesome and you're awesome and we can all hang out together and it would be..."

"Awesome," Buck finishes. He thinks it might be.

"I forgot you don't know that."

"Know what?" Buck asks, when Eddie's mumble doesn't come with any additional clarification. "Eddie?"

"Hmm?"

"Never mind. Hey, you should get up and go to your bed. Sleeping on that couch is not going to help your ankle heal any faster."

"Tommy said that."

"Tommy's right. Come on."

Eddie groans as he sits up, cursing at Buck in what he thinks is under his breath, and asks, "You talked to Tommy?"

"Yeah, he just left."

"And we're okay? You like him now?"

Buck's blood roars through his ears and he wants to throw up and start laughing all at the same time. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Good."

He breathes through the sudden headrush as Eddie grumbles and hops his way off the couch and down the hall. Buck knows where he's finding his handholds by the echo off the walls and he winces when Eddie takes a misstep and swears again. He thinks for a second that he should be there, that he should help Eddie to bed, but Eddie would never let him. Buck wonders if Tommy would let him. He's wondering about so much now and he never did before.

"Hey, Eds?" The question is out before Buck realizes he's asking it, small and vulnerable, and he wants to claw it back and swallow it down before Eddie notices, but he doesn't have a chance.

"Yeah?"

Tommy kissed me. I want him to do it again.

"No, nothing. Just. I'm sorry. I was out of line."

"You were," Eddie answers. "And I forgive you."

Something settles in Buck then. A piece that had still been sitting off kilter and jamming painfully under his ribs. He takes a deep breath, and joy washes fully over him, calming and centering. He doesn't ask the question again though. He thinks he wants to keep this tiny, glowing treasure to himself. At least for a little while.

"Bring me my shoe back and we'll call it even."

Buck laughs, letting the sound ring out through his apartment and he can hear Eddie smiling on the other end of the phone.

#idk what this is #my brain exited my body several hours ago #it's not the fic i said i was writing in my head that's for sure #7.04 #buck bothered and bewildered #episode coda #911 fic #evan buck buckley #911 spoilers #allison writes

[comfortless]

Priest!König and succubus!reader perhaps 👀? (Unless you're uncomfortable)

cracking my knuckles… sin??

18+. minors do not interact. this is a little shameless. corruption kink, religion, implied virgin!König, cunnilingus, come eating, a little angst.

It’s rare to find a parishioner in the confessional this late; the church’s doors were always open, their opening and shutting is not what had König stirring from a restless sleep, but the creaking of the old hinges in that little booth certainly had. The priest hurriedly dresses himself in his cassock and makes his way to the opposite end, closing the door behind him as he wearily drags himself to his seat.

“Father,” the voice greets on the other side, so soft and quiet he can hardly hear her at all. Shy, almost. The woman on the other side seems to shift, her movement rustling against the boards of wood that separate them.

“Bless me… I have never made a confession before.”

Not a parishioner, then. A stranger coming under the veil of night… König allows a silence to settle over the confessional for a moment before he produces the holy text and sets it in his lap in preparation to free this poor woman from the sin that binds her.

“Go on then, child,” he encourages, tone mirroring her own. The priest anticipates the usual: admissions of lust, falsehoods, or the common doubts. He has pages dog-eared in his book that list of scriptures for those common problems, the ones he would easily find the words to pray for, to cleanse her soul, to hopefully return to his bed to sleep before morning prayers.

There’s laughter from the other side of the booth, muffled as though an attempt to stifle it beneath her palm had been made. Then, “Father, what if I do not wish to be absolved?”

There had been no preparations made for that, but something in the tone of her voice holds his attention. His side of the booth regains its silence as his brow pinches, determined to piece together some reasoning as to why someone would choose to play some dull prank on him of all people…

“Let me see you.”

Her demand catches him off guard again, but of all things this is hardly strange. Her tone suggests nervousness, a feeling he knows all too well as he wrings his hands and rises with a heavy sigh. The door shuts quietly behind him as he waits for the woman to follow suit. A soft rustling follows his leaving from her side, and when she does step out…

No amount of internal Hail Marys could keep his stare from lingering upon the sight of a woman nude: it isn’t that he hasn’t fantasized before, he would take his lashes and fastings and sit in the quiet of his room to comfort himself with prayer after a weak defeat to his own sins. Still… imagination could not compare to the real thing; he takes note of each soft curve, each dip and line and groove of her. Her breasts are soft, her hips enticing, the length of her legs and what lies between her thighs…

He damns himself the moment his cock twitches to life below the cassock, there’s no slow tensing; only the immediate feeling of feeling horribly confined within his own clothes. He breathes out a drawn out sigh, feigning disinterest when his eyes squeeze shut and he turns his head from her.

“… You need to leave.”

The woman’s lips purse in a small pout when he does will himself to meet her eyes again- just her eyes. No part of him wishes to lose his place in heaven, let alone take advantage of some poor lady who clearly must have lost—

“But you are so lonely… I only want to help,” she whispers, her eyes are wet and pleading, expression only further softening as she gazes up at him with an adoration he hasn’t even seen on his flock.

And those words… something shatters in him, breaks into a thousand tiny pieces when he recounts all of those miserable nights lying in bed alone, imagining a woman as he pulled his cock free and gave himself so many weak, dull orgasms that the skin of it began to sting. If God could forgive him for his weakness then… surely, just once he could allow this.

König sighs again when her hands move to free him of the cassock, but he does not take her wrist to stop her. Even with each hesitant motion, he doesn’t take her wrists into his hands or push her away. He lets her strip him bare, lets her see the way his cock drools at the sight of her and his breath seems to stutter in his chest.

“See? It’s alright,” she coos as she takes his face into her gentle hands. There’s Hell in her eyes, the devil on a forked tongue, but he allows her to guide his face downward, to bring his mouth to her tit, and he feasts upon her. To have his last supper be forbidden fruit… all of the metaphors buzz in his head when his tongue begins to circle her nipple, then the other without her even needing to prompt him.

He could not even begin to describe the sounds she made, like the softest of voices amidst the roaring of a choir in his head, Hell’s wailing and Heaven’s chiming all at once as he licks his way down her sternum, her middle and finds his nose pressed to her mound. Nothing in Heaven could have tasted as sweet as her, no amount of lashing could pull the same shudder from him as he feels course through each knob of his spine when his tongue lathes over her slit, up to the hood of her clit and back.

The sounds of her pleasure only increase further when his grip on her thighs forces her to kneel. He maneuvers her onto her hands and knees to lick her properly, eat her out in ways he had only imagined himself doing before as he grips his weeping manhood in one hand and grips her ass with the other. His tongue sweeps over her in repetition— sloppy, clumsy even as he tries to keep himself from spilling into his palm from her taste and the sight alone.

He gets… curious, flicks his tongue over her other hole too and his fingers move to graze over her clit. She encourages him with soft squeals of pure delight, even draws her hand back to touch herself while he spears his tongue in her hole. If it’s only once, he would be sure to make the most of it.

Lust is not his only sin, because pride wells up deep inside of him the moment she orgasms. He smiles, grins, before he buries his tongue back into her leaking cunt, desperate to consume her, lapping inside, around, over her her until she shivers and whines, saying that it’s far too much.

He doesn’t know how to fuck her properly, admits it sheepishly when she lies back on the floor intent to have her take him in some gentle manner, sweet for her sweet priest. Missionary of all things seemed most blasphemous considering where they are, beneath a holy roof.

So, she opts to climb into his lap, seats herself on his cock in one go. He knows he’s well-endowed, thick and lengthy, and he babbles his concerns about breaking her in a weak string of words. Her cunt is too tight, he feels the way she stretches to accommodate him, each ridge of her walls when she squeezes him… The woman only tosses her head back and laughs, digs her nails into his shoulders as she bounces on his cock with such an easy grace he can’t watch— can’t because he already feels himself beginning to tense, feels the blinding heat spread from the pit of his stomach to pull his balls taut.

He swears he sees the angels right before she pulls off of him, leaves him a trembling, aching mess where the wetness of her own arousal has spilled down to his thighs.

“I want you to pray,” she suggests, sweetly peppering his face in the most chaste of kisses. “Pray you get to finish in me.”

She wants to ruin him, wants drag him down to Hell with her. There are no protests when she bends over to present herself to him; the priest does as she asks in a whisper, pleads for her and when it’s done, his reward in in the form of two words “good boy” and her tight, pulsing heat wrapped around him again.

He doesn’t last long, doesn’t even try to anymore for fear she may decide to leave him high and dry entirely. He ruts into her with a grip on the back of her neck and the plushness of her hip, leans his weight entirely over her as the sounds of impact fill the hollow church. God isn’t watching, but the little succubus below him is so appeased and her favor is all he can care for anymore.

When he comes, he fucks her through it, doesn’t even attempt to slow down as he whines into her ear about how good she feels, how they could get married, have this forever and he will show her the light. Fuck, he would leave the church behind entirely for her if she would just let him feel this every night. His thrusts only slow when he grows soft, when he can’t even keep himself inside of her cunt, slippery with his own seed.

She lies back, spreads her legs and lets him see what he’s done, fingers herself and presses his own come to his lips. She tells him he’s fed her better than anyone else, tells him to have a taste too and he does. He laps at her fingers as desperately as he had her pussy, until she pulls away, wipes his saliva onto her thigh and asks him if he’s ready to sleep.

The bed feels so much warmer with another person present, safer somehow even if he’s never felt himself in any danger… not here. He falls asleep in her embrace, the most blissful sleep he’s ever had. It’s only a shame that he had… because when he wakes in the morning the woman is gone. He misses his prayers searching for her, for even a trace of what occurred between them. There’s no stain on the floor or clothing in the confessional… not even a note to suggest she would return.

He goes back to his sad masturbation sessions, doesn’t even repent for the way he wanders into the confessional after service to fuck his fist and imagine her voice calling to him from the other side. He pictures her body beneath him, thinks of her praise and the way she damned him when he shoots spurts of wasted come against the boards. There’s no love, no woman at his side when he returns to his bed at night, but he has his imagination for that too.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #do not look at me

[peachesofteal]

Dad!John Price/female reader This has been living in my head

“Beautiful out, isn’t it?” 

The old woman on the docks hitches her shoulder bag higher, eyes fixed on nothing in the distance. John hums an agreement, low pitch slow to rise from his chest. It’s not a dismissal, but not conversation. Non-committal. About as much as you’ll get from him, on a day like today. 

He keeps his focus on the expanse of the bay. A metamorphic magma layered coastal cradle holding entire populations of people, and animals, those that live on land… and at sea. 

He’s waiting for a fleck of dust on the horizon, a small speck that will slowly turn into ferry, one that carries some passengers, a few packages, bundles of mail by the heap. It is beautiful today; he doesn’t disagree. But it’s not because of the weather.  It’s because the ferry is carrying more than just a few passengers home. It’s carrying his worst nightmare. The final nail in a coffin. His own personal hell.

And… 

His brightest light. His favorite part of everyday. His everything. The reason his heart still beats.

Both on the same boat. 

The sun shines through the tips of the trees, bright on his face, casting an amber yellow glow over the harbor, and he basks in it, even with the brittle cold. 

The warmth of the light is foreign this time year, a time year when creeks all run underneath a quickly thickening layer of ice, morning frost lingers beneath cloud cover, and bears sleep.  

The town will be full of life today. The bar at the top of the hill, the only one in town, will be burning the midnight oil, everyone appearing at some point throughout the night, eager to have one last rousing round with neighbors and friends before the true cold of winter sets in. 

Of course, they don’t hate the cold. They wouldn’t live here if they did. 

Life is different in the winter. Year round. Life here revolves more around the weather and the seasons than anywhere else he’s ever been, or lived, and everything from the kelp to the whales, the deer and sea lions, the people, and the wolves, depend on the promise of perpetual change. 

The tide washes through little pebbles of ancient volcanic rock like a lullaby, one so familiar he swears he can hear it when he’s working, when he’s worlds away in his mind. It’s peaceful, full of memories, nostalgia beating in his blood for something long gone, long past. 

His heart aches, for a moment. Long enough that his brow furrows, and his hands find his pocket, anxiously feeling for the chain. 

The ferry shatters his memories, blaring across the beach, and the old woman gives him a smile. 

“Early today.” This time, John does respond. 

“Good.” 

“You must be John.” She offers her hand, face half hidden beneath a large hood and knit muff, black pants and coat nearly matching his. 

He hesitates, fingers flexing, and she doesn’t miss a beat, moving on to step around him, speaking briefly to the ferry captain, an old grizzled man who stared at John the entire trip, blatant curiosity wrinkling his frown lines. 

The wind cuts through his jacket, snaking beneath his layers, forcing his muscles tense. 

Bloody freezing. He's been cold, plenty, but this bitterness has bite.

She squints and jerks her head towards the end of the dock, sunlight glittering in her eyes. They’re beautiful, a rich shade of coffee and hazel, golden spotted and drusy, a cluster of crystals inside dark pupils. They’re a color he could drown in. The kind of eyes he could see in his dreams for the rest of his life.

The kind of eyes capable of disarming him, before he's even drawn a weapon.

“C’mon. Truck’s got heat.” 

“Mari says you’ve never been a Ranger before.” She tries to make casual conversation with him, patting the steering wheel as the truck sputters to life. Gears grind, they churn, and she smiles, glancing at the road before putting it in gear. It’s old, rusted in a quaint way, the kind that makes him think of old industrial parks and aging tanks, a rugged red chipped away above the passenger wheel well, rubbed raw by salt air. 

“I have… relative experience.” He’s careful with his words, hesitant about over divulging, and she shrugs. 

“With people? Or wildlife?” He points his face out the window. With people, sure. With bears and wolves and whatever else lurks in these woods, less so. 

The truck climbs a windy road, pushing up above the cove, narrow pitted pavement flanked by forest so black he can hardly see a meter inside the tree line. The shadow that lingers inside the tree line is primordial, alive, and he blinks when he thinks he sees something moving, deep in the dark. Douglas fir, silver fir, white pine flash by, occasional road signs with pictures of animals and speed limits dotting the way. “Logging is big industry out here. Forestry feeds a lot of families in this area, but it can be a point of contention.” She motions past him to another cove, one tucked just around the bend from where the ferry came in, its surface covered in shaved logs, all nearly uniform in size, floating together in rows upon rows, waiting for their next voyage. 

“That what you do? Er… logging?” Her hands are rough, skin cracked, nails trimmed short, and the coat is utility. Built for labor. For weather. It’s a natural conclusion. 

“No. I run the nature center in the late spring and summer. No tourism in fall or winter though, so I find other things to do. Work for the park. Tag trees. Winter trail maintenance. Wildlife management.” The truck rattles into a left turn, and she waves at someone in an oncoming car. “Guess I kinda work for you now.” Her chuckle is light, sweet, and his cheeks feel warm. “What brought you all the way up here?” 

Bloody hell. 

“Needed a change of pace.” 

“Long way to come for a change.” She muses, and he agrees. It is very, very far. Three planes, two ferries, this truck. Hours of travel, temperature dropping in ten degree increments every time he stepped outside. He doesn’t know how to answer that, how to tell her, what he’s doing here, how to say he had to leave things behind. 

The island changes, geology shifting, granite turning to mud and grass, darkness fading as the truck putters into its final descent.

He instinctively taps the tags in his pocket, a nervous tic that’s develops over the last few months since he took them off for the last time and clears his throat. 

“Yes. It is.” 

The ferry sidles up the wooden dock, rocking in the waves, captain giving the small, older woman next to him a friendly wave. At his side, a woman stands, straight backed and proud, eyes sharp against the setting sun. 

Is that…

You catch his gaze, glancing at the Ranger badge on his coat, and then nodding, hand lifting in acknowledgement. 

His breath freezes in his chest. You’re stunning. Beautiful, like the land, like the strait, and for a second, he forgets himself. 

Igneous rock hardens in his stomach, in his heart.

He's lost at sea. Lost in the swell. An eddy line of devastation sweeps him out, past the lighthouse on the rocks, past the pod of resident orcas, past the point of no return.

He's drowning.

Only to be brought back by one of his favorite sounds in the entire world. 

“Dad!”

#John price x reader #peaches writes #John price #captain john price #captain john price x reader #price x reader

[spiriteddreams]

waited around, I should've known you wouldn't show / and I'm just a fool who spent her birthday all alone — maisie peters (birthday) cw: angst

neuvillette, who has to go to the courthouse on your birthday. he says, "the law demands that i be there.” and who are you to argue against the iudex. justice waits for no one, not even you. and you’re only left to wonder if he even remembers if it's your birthday or not. he leaves you with a kiss on the forehead, so brief and chaste that when you step out for the day, the wind seems to wipe it away as if mocking you. and you count the minutes from the moment you wake, as balloons are inflated and then float away, as wax melts down candles one by one and as the day comes and goes. and neuvillette doesn't show. 

and when he returns, house cold and curtains drawn shut, he is greeted by the silence of burnt out candles and opened gifts, none of which are signed by him. the gift that he has brought feels heavy in his hands. guilt guides his figure as he navigates through the hallways once filled with warmth, now devoid of any light, just remnants of a party that he didn't attend. 

and as the clocks hands drag closer and closer to midnight you sit there alone, still halfway hopeful that he'll show. so you can only wonder if he remembers, or if he even cares. actions speak louder than words, and the silence of your home reminds you that to neuvillette, the law stands above all else. and that selfish part of you wishes that for once, he would make an exception for you. for your birthday. because while it is wonderful to spend a special day such as your birthday with your closest friends, there is a small part of you that wishes that if anyone, neuvillette would have remembered, he would have come.

as you drift off to sleep, you miss the sound of the door opening and closing. you miss the sound of footsteps padding across the floor. you miss his guilty eyes, clouded with the dull throb of an aching chest, and the unmistakable shudder of his breath as he steps closer to your tired figure. you’ve pulled the sheets closer to yourself, as if trying to comfort yourself, tugging whatever lingering warmth he might’ve left you with in the morning.

he wonders, how long will you stay like this, how long will you allow him to show up to every moment of your life late, to only crawl beneath the sheets to savor your comfort and warmth in the middle of the night. because it’s unfair to you, neuvillette thinks to himself, and he must be the most selfish man of all to still crave the softness of your heart and hands, a special spot carved out for him. he is selfish, he thinks to himself. selfish and cruel and undeserving of the welcome of your embrace.

and yet you turn around, seemingly in tune with his actions and thoughts. he sees the hurt in your eyes, the dried tears and puffy eyes, the slight part of your lips with angry words ready to spill. but you say nothing and instead untangle yourself from the bedsheets and hold them open for him. you take in his hesitance but still don’t say a word, and neuvillette wonders if the silence is hurting you more than it is him.

“i’m truly sorry,” he rasps out. his voice wavers, fingers tremble and yet you stare at him in the dim light of your room. “i don’t deserve your forgiveness, but—“

“come to bed.” your voice is stern but still kind. for a moment he hesitates again, but finds himself moving towards the bed, towards you, without thinking. your warmth is comforting and familiar, daresay he considers it forgiving. 

“thank you for coming home.”

the clock strikes 12, the sign of a new day, and he finds that he's forgotten to wish you happy birthday.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #genshin impact neuvillette #spiriteddreams writing #spiriteddreams

[crazyforbarbatos]

Obey Me Brothers + Solomon You draw a salt circle around yourself

This is rather childish, Y/N. A salt circle, really? Do you think that’s really going to stop him? While he may not be able to cross it, he’d like to remind you that you had foolishly drawn your salt circle inside of his office. And since you’re not coming out of you’re circle, he’s going to keep the door locked. And you both will stay in there until you tell him what’s bothering you. He can wait eternity, Y/N.

Look, he understands why you’re in there. And he knows that no matter how pouty he acts, you aren’t gonna come out. He really upset you by selling something meaningful from your room again. And now he’d have to figure out a way to get it back if you were going to finally break from the the salt circle.

So the only reason why his Ruri-Chan figurine was being held hostage by you is because he insulted your choice of husbando/waifu. He didn’t mean it, he was just envious of how you looked at them and not him. “Take it back Levi, or you’re not getting your precious Ruri-Chan out of this salt circle.”

You were messing with him right? He could hear the meowing from a mile away. There you were, inside the salt circle with a kitten in your arms and he couldn’t reach out and pet it. He couldn’t even reach for you either. Stupid Lucifer and his no cat ban. If it wasn’t in place, you wouldn’t be in that salt circle protesting. However, the annoyed look on Lucifer’s face was priceless as you taunted him.

“If you can cross this circle and get the cat on your own with no help, Lucifer, than I’ll give up the cat. If not, you must let Satan and I keep it.”

He whines as soon as he sees you sitting in your salt circle in your room, reading. You were supposed to go with him to the movies and you said he could dress you up. But that was until he accidently caused your hair to change color in class. And the only way you could get it back to it’s usual color was to wait for it to fade. He’d have to settle for watching a movie in your room, separated by the stupid salt circle.

Y/N, could you please share the food that you have in your circle with him? Yes, he knows that you and your food are in there because he keeps accidently eating it all on you, but he’s really sorry. He’s really happy when you finally decide to come out make him pinky-promise not to eat all of your snacks. You’ll share them with him, but he can’t eat them all.

He pouts when you draw a salt circle around yourself. He wanted to cuddle with you, but now he can’t cause he can’t cross it. And all because of the little argument you had. He was sorry and wanted to apologize but you were were inside the salt circle sleeping. Not wanting to bother you, he’d lean his head against the shield (that what the salt circle felt like to him) and drift off to sleep. If he couldn’t snuggle with you, this was the next best thing. At least he’d be close to you. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Oh? You’ve drawn a circle around yourself? Well, isn’t this interesting. The brothers were getting on your nerves? Well, would you mind if he joined you? No? Alright then. He would enjoy the reactions of the demons when only he could cross the salt circle. But he would feel happy to get to spend time with you.

#obey me reactions #obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #solomon x reader

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 3

How is he going to pull himself out of this one, when the signs all point to one thing?

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, Angst [Tags will be different for every part!]

Length: 1k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

Collab with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

-> Masterlist

A/N: hitting you with the double angst spicy meal today yum yum yum

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Going out without Jungkook isn't really fun at all- especially not when you're mad at him, and didn't even plan on going out anyways.

But you've been hoping at least a little bit deep down that it would help him realize that you're not gonna just stay home and be his maid all day- something that apparently had become his new reality. And when you come back home, there's hope- the lights are still on, bedroom door open as well. Has he been waiting? Is he gonna apologize for once?

You technically learned to always expect the unexpected with him during your relationship, but nothing could've prepared you for the sight you're witnessing inside the shared room- because he's fast asleep, snuggled beneath the covers as if there's nothing wrong at all.

The crushing devastation of that alone, the fact that he can just sleep while you've always stayed up, mind unable to rest if he's not in sight or near you, just too much to handle. You've got half a mind to just throw him out the bed, but he's got his weight and amount of hours in the gym on his side- it'd be too much of a hassle, and right now, you really don't want to deal with him any longer. So you just turn off the lights, take some blankets, and close the door to make yourself comfortable on the couch for tonight instead.

You just can't take this anymore.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

The next morning he's out already, having left you a note in messy handwriting about something needing to be shipped out, so he'd be back later today after bringing the packages to the post office. There's a wonky looking crying face drawn next to a 'sorry for last night', and you just crumple up the note to throw it into the trash, since that's all his words are to you at this point.

There has to be a reason he's acting like that- and you want to figure it out, even if you don't like what you'll discover.

Booting up his pc would take way too long since you're not sure how long he's gonna be out- and you also feel a little bad about invading his privacy like that, so you instead occupy yourself with putting the blankets away and at least making yourself late breakfast. But the laptop on the kitchen counter, left by him probably in a hurry, is too enticing to ignore.

It's still on standby too, blinking light on the side taunting you to open it up.

Giving into temptation, you open it- just to be faced with a screen that tells you it's locked by the main administrator. A passcode? Since when did he have that?

Jungkook and you have never really hidden anything from one another. He knows the passcode to your phone, and he even has your fingerprint and face-ID saved on his own- so why the sudden secrecy? It's clear from yesterday that he's keeping something from you, and you're not sure how to feel about that. Is he..

no. He wouldn't. Right?

Then again, he really just went from having sex almost daily and clinging to you at random times a day to zero libido and no interest whatsoever- so there must be something going on. Is he getting his fill somewhere else? Has he found someone who can love him better than you?

"I'm ba- oh?" He looks at you like the deer caught in the headlights same eyes and all, frozen in his spot as he caught you in the act, your angry face and stance obviously signaling your unhappiness still. Well, what did he think was going to happen? That you'd just accept his antics and not ask any questions? That some pancakes from your favorite place down the street are just gonna solve the situation he himself has been creating?

....a little. But he's not that stupid.

You storm off without a word, as he sighs and runs a hand over his face, putting the pancakes on the kitchen counter to instead shower first, needing to get his head free and reset his body so he can figure out a way to at least pacify your rage for now. He's so close to finally getting it done- you'll just have to wait a little longer, and he's gonna make it all worth it.

But to you, his shower doesn't look like just a need for a physical reset- it just seems to add color to your worst fear that's been brewing beneath your skin, poisoning the blood in your veins.

And when you take his phone from the bed, you're slapped right across the face again- as the phone doesn't recognize it at all, the password you're tapping in wrong just as much, causing the phone to vibrate and demand a proper input. This is stupid. Why is he suddenly hiding his every move it feels like? It can't be anything other than that- and yet you want to think it's not it. That he's not this heartless. He's always been a romantic and obsessed with true love- granted, his idea of romance was a little odd, but it was still uniquely his, and always honest and genuine.

He used to care about you so much. Where did that go?

When he steps out the shower, the round eyes make an appearance again, body running ice cold at the sight of you sitting on his bed with his phone in your hand. Fuck- what's he going to do now?

"Since when did you change your passcode?" You want to know, voice a lot more fragile than you hoped it would be. You don't want to seem so weak in front of him now. You want to scream and yell, in fact. Punch his stupid pretty face until he feels just as hurt as you do in this moment.

His lips part, but he's not saying anything.

"And since when did you lock your laptop?" You ask, but still- he doesn't give you an answer at all as he instead nervously licks his lips, and plays with the piercings.

And then, his phone vibrates- and it shows that he's not been as thorough in hiding as he thought he was. Because the messages and notifications are still displayed. And this message makes your stomach drop as you read it.

[Maria: Alright, I'm so excited! Next time let's d...]

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jungkook x y/n

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To be alone with you 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: who predicted 2024 would be the year I converted to Cavill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The blinds are drawn as you hug your pillow with one arm. Your body is stiff as you sleep with one leg hooked around your blankets, the bottom of one cheek exposed to the steady blow of AC. You shiver and roll onto your back, pulling the covers around you fully.

The night before is a vague shadow in your mind. You remember starting the movie but not much else. You’d been so tired after the break-in, you must’ve passed out almost immediately. You feel bad, hoping that Clark doesn’t take it to heart.

You push yourself up. Your head is thick and full with sleep. You haven't slept like this in forever. Your mouth is dry but tangy. You swallow the gritty morning and cough, turning to dangle your legs over the edge.

Your striped shorts are crooked and wrinkly and your tee shirt smells like sweat. Ugh. You're a mess. 

You stand and lumber around clumsily. You grab a change of clothes and try to stretch out the kinks as you cross the hall to the bathroom. You close the door and put your clothes on the counter, facing your reflection.

You look rough. You feel just as bad. You turn on the cold water and splash it over your face before you brush your teeth, scraping out the stale taste stuck to your tongue. You turn on the shower and undress, wincing as your thighs meet.

You must be close to your time of the month. You get a bit sensitive. It would explain your fatigue and the soreness. Great. 

You step into the glass booth and wash yourself. The warm water is soothing against your stiff muscles. God, you really hurt. You reach down to touch your folds, checking your fingers for blood.

PMS is a bitch. Not enough to bleed for a week, your body has to gaslight you into thinking you are already.

After, you pull on the fresh clothes but hardly feel more awake. Just sluggish and achy. Coffee. You don't live off it like your sister but you need it in that moment.

Thinking of, where is your sister? Not too unusual for her to he errant but it's been a few days.

As you come downstairs, you hear snoring rumbling through the first floor. You slow and tiptoe into the front room. You cautiously approach the couch and find Clark, arms crossed, sleeping on his side, cramped into the small space as he slumbers. The small throw stretched over his shoulders. 

Your stomach pits. You're certain he'd much rather be at home in his own bed. Your guilt keeps you from disturbing him.

You creep into the kitchen, making your movement muted and staggered. You flip the switch on the kettle and wait as it hums. You load the french press with grinds and teeter on your toes, dancing nervously around the tile. 

You pour the boiling water into the press and check the time on the stove. You give it time to brew and lean on the island, listlessly cupping your chin and tapping your cheek with your fingertips. As you blow out, you hear the floorboards and stand up to greet Clark as he enters. 

His hair is askew, eyes droopy, and the blanket still draped around his neck. You didn't realise before he hadn't been wearing a shirt. His pajamas hang low on his stomach, the dark hair across his chest and trailing down his stomach exposed shamelessly. You gulp and focus on his face. 

“Smells like coffee,” he grins crookedly, “morning.”

“Morning, uh, I hope I didn't wake you up,” you squeak.

“Not at all,” he waves you off, “you passed out so quick, I figured you'd be up and at em. Besides, Jonny’s an early riser.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn to press down the plunger on the press, “I'm sorry I zonked out so fast–”

There's less resistance than you expect and the coffee splashes up and overflows, splashing your hands as you recoil with a yipe. You try to shake it off but a particular spot on the back of your hand singes badly. Before you can think, Clark has your arm and angles you to the sink as he flips on the cold water.

He guides your hand under, crowding you as your arm shakes in pain. You hiss even as the water soothes. 

“Oh, I'm so clumsy,” you murmur.

“As long as you're okay,” he slowly lets you go, “you let me take care of this.”

He swipes up the dish towel and sops up the errant drops of coffee. He dries off the outside of the press and patiently pushes down the plunger. You turn off the water and use a fresh towel on your hands.

He faces you, “blistering?”

You look at your hand, “just tender.”

“You're lucky I'm here,” he chortles, “scare away all the bad men and take care of your burns.”

“Ha, yeah, I–”

“Mm, something smells like cherry blossoms,” he interrupts, sniffing the air, his blue eyes narrowing on you, “is that you?”

“Um, yeah,” you catch a wafting scent from your body, “that's my body soap. Oh no, is it setting you off?”

“Not at all,” he smiles, “I was more worried about you.”

“Ah, no, it's fine. The soap doesn't trigger me surprisingly.”

“Hm,” he leans on the counter, gripping the edge as you notice how his stomach muscles clench, “I bought Lois some cherry blossom soap once. She never used it. Guess it isn't her scent.”

“Not for everyone I guess,” you turn and open a cupboard, taking down two mugs.

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees dully, “well, I should call your dad over my coffee,” he pushes himself straight and nears, stopping right beside you as you pour into the cups, “maybe after we can go get breakfast. My treat.”

“Oh, you don't have to–”

“I want to. Kinda weird not having Jonny around, looking fir a distraction,” he accepts a mug as you slide it over to him.

“Makes sense,” you say, “well, who am I to deny a free meal?”

🏡

After searching your coffee cup for an ounce of strength, you give in to the persistent glaze in your eyes. Maybe eating will help. Clark's offer is generous, almost too generous, yet your stomach clenches at the thought of food.

You grab your purse and head down to find Clark. He's in the kitchen, rinsing his mug, your own forgotten on your night stand. He dries it and puts it away as you wait for him to notice you.

“Did you talk to my dad?” You ask.

“Yeah, actually, couldn't get through. They must be on the road. Service gets spotty, right?” He hangs the dish towel neatly, “so you ready? I gotta stop by my place and change but then we can eat.”

“Sure, uh, well, you know, if it's too much…”

“Not at all, I'm excited. There's this place I've been meaning to try for a while but Lois hasn't felt like it,” he says, “tried calling her too. Think she's still mad at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kent.”

“Clark,” he corrects you, “you make me feel so old.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again.

“It's fine,” he shrugs, “we should get going. I'm starving.”

“Not gonna lie, me too.”

“Must've been all the salty snacks last night,” he kids.

🏡

After you stop at the Kents', you set off for breakfast. The more you think about it the hungrier you are. You grow restless as you watch several options pass by, holding your tongue as Clark keeps driving.

You're surprised as he passes the city limits and you shift in your seat, craning to watch the sign pass. He clears his throat and turns down the radio, "almost there. Guess I shoulda mentioned it's all the way out here."

"Nah, it's fine," you shrug, "just curious."

"Really cute place, locally owned," he explains, "I prefer to give my money to an honest family business, you know?"

"Totally get it," you say coolly.

He taps his fingers on the wheel, as if he's restless or even agitated. He pulls into a gravel lot off the country road and you look up at the painted side. You passed this place with your parents a few times but never pulled over. It's a quaint brunch restaurant in a cottage-style house.

"Oh, this place," you chuckle.

"You been here?" He asks.

"No, but I've seen it."

"Right," he intones and clicks free his seat belt.

You free yourself of your own seat belt and climb out as he mirrors you. You let him take the lead and follow him to the front door. He holds it open and you enter ahead of him. You're greeted inside by an elderly lady.

"Good morning, may I show you to a table?" She offers.

You nod as Clark gives a vocal response over your head. She leads you to a table for two. You notice the place isn't very busy. There's an older man in the corner drinking coffee over a newspaper but no one else.

You sit as she introduces herself as Lena and promises menus. She shuffles away as you look at Clark who seems enamoured with the place. He admires the painting of flowers not far from your table and the lacy curtains around the front windows. It's cute but a bit outdated.

"There ya go, honies," she lays two menus on the table, her knobby hands shaking, "would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please, and..." he looks at you.

"Green tea, please."

"Coffee and green," she repeats, "lovely."

She hobbles away and you shift awkwardly in your seat. She must be the only waitress. In a place like this, you're not surprised. You just hope the food is decent, not that you can be picky.

"This place is nice," he muses, "peaceful."

"Yeah, it's interesting," you say as you pick up the menu. 

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he takes his own menu and browses it lazily, "glad I could be there to keep an eye out. Protect you."

"Ah, well, yeah, I don't think they guy would come back anyway but it did help," you give a small smile and settle on eggs benedict.

"Great," he puffs out his chest just a little. 

You peek up at him. It must be a good distraction for him. With Lois and Jonny gone, he needs something to keep him busy. You can humour him.

"Here ya go, sweets," Lena returns with a mug off coffee and a teacup on a saucer. She places both shakily and stands as straight as she can to ask if you've decided on what you want.

Clark lets you order first and you speak loudly and slowly to the woman as she cups her ear. She repeats it back to you before listening aptly to Clark. When she's done, she gives a soft clap and goes back behind the counter. She scribbles on a piece of paper and puts it in the window.

You glance over at the window, distracting yourself with the blowing grass. Somehow out here, you don't feel the same tickle in your sinuses. You sit back and cross your arms, watching the lazy blue sky.

"Oh, it's so romantic, a nice breakfast for two," Lena startles you as she appears again. She places a candlestick in the middle of the table then puts a wax taper in it. You can only stare and share look with Clark as she lights it, "you are so darling together. Is it a special occasion?"

"Uh," you bite your lip and look at Clark.

"Just breakfast," he answers as he throws his hands up, "spur of the moment, you know?"

"That's precious," she squeals, "you are such a beautiful pair."

"Thanks," Clark says and you just smile awkwardly.

She winks and leaves once more. You watch her cross the restaurant and sit with the old man and his newspaper. He lowers it as she whispers to him. You turn back and face Clark, leaning forward.

"I think she thinks we're together," you keep your voice quiet, "like a couple."

"Eh yeah, I didn't want it to be awkward," he shrugs, "no harm in it, really."

Your mouth slants as you consider his response. You guess he's right. What will it hurt? She's just a lonely old woman.

"What?" He tilts his head.

"Nothing," you answer.

"Really? I mean, I could correct her if it's a big deal--"

"It's not, really," you lean forward and cross your arms over the table, "just funny, I guess. Second time it's happened."

"It is?" He furrows his thick brows.

"Yeah, the ice cream guy..." you trail off, "whatever. Just... I'm kinda young but maybe don't look it."

"It's flattering, really," he insists, "people really think I could be with someone like you."

"Well, I mean, Lois is gorgeous," you laugh, "so..."

"Lucky man, surrounded by beautiful women," he grins.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you sit back awkwardly, not expecting the compliment. You're nothing like Lois, love handles excluded, you still couldn't compare. You're just the babysitter. “Thanks, that's… you don't have to say that.”

“Well, you are,” he rubs his neck bashfully.

“Ha, yeah, well…” you clasp your hands in your lap and look again out the window.

As you watch the horizon over the dusty road, your heart roils in the tension. There's something nipping at your mind, just on the edge of your memory but you just can't grasp it. Is he just being nice or is there something more behind his compliments?

Don't be silly, he doesn't see you like that. He couldn't.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #babysitter au #superman #dc #dcu #to be alone with you

[ghouljams]

consider this... medieval!141

ghost who is a huge and intimidating knight for his gentle and kind princess

soap who is a thief who after he pickpockets you and accidentally stole a love letter you wrote to him falls for u

price who is the king who takes many women to bed but still hasnt found one for his heart but finds you who is absolutely not for his harem

i like history and beefy men so its a win win

God I have a medieval COD AU that I turned into original fiction and I am just... yeah. I'm gonna do something short for all the boys starting with Gaz since he got left out and ending with Ghost cuz he's my fave

Gaz is an advisor to the King, his quick wit and keen eye make him an excellent man to have on hand. He's always been more observant than is good for him, when he catches you pouring something into his evening drink he's furious. You're a favorite among the servants in the castle, a sweet little thing that he's had his eyes on and now your trying to kill him? You explain it's just a sleeping tonic, that you noticed he hasn't been resting well recently, but he makes you drink it yourself to prove you're not lying. You think maybe he knew what it was, the way his eyes follow the movement of your throat, the sly smile on his face when the tonic hits you drowsy. The soft kiss he places on your lips when he tells you how considerate you are, how good you are for taking care of him, more than makes up for his earlier anger. You're sent to bed aching for him.

Soap is a quick fingered rogue, more a mercenary for hire than a proper thief. Still, he has to pay the bills somehow and sometimes that means snagging a loose purse from a drunken noble. He spots you counting your coins carefully and slipping them into your pocket. He's careful not to knock you over when he bumps into you, conscious of his comparable size. When he catches you it's easy to pull your coins from your pocket, before sending you on your way. He pulls them from his pocket as he walks off, and finds smooth flat pieces of painted wood and rocks instead of metal. There's a crinkle of paper under his vest, and when he pulls it free it's a carefully folded love letter. Singing praises for the skilled fingers and pretty face of your favorite rogue, and warning him to keep those same fingers out of your pockets. Soap thinks he might be in love.

Price is a King, both lived and feared in equal measure. This is a throne that he's won, earned, not one that was simply passed to him. He's always ruled with the good of the people in mind, but that doesn't mean he hasn't enjoyed the benefits of rule. He tries to stick to widows and widowers, people that won't get him into trouble if they're found in his bed. Best not to bring anyone that might start having grand designs of marriage, or be considered "spoiled" after his nights with them. You're an emissary from a neighboring kingdom, quick witted, and not afraid to tell him your mind. You're only there to discuss trade, but he can't help trying to hold you in his keep a little longer. You're plied with wine and good food, your carriage is broken, your horses are sick, you're too hungover to leave. You take walks with Price and offer opinions on the state of his affairs, you find yourself drawn to him, waiting on his every touch. You can't help it if you wind up in his bed with a ring on your finger.

Ghost is your most devoted personal knight, and you are his dearly beloved princess. His every move is for you. His large hand closing around yours to help you out of carriages, help you down from horses, to offer stability as you enter ballrooms and rush up stairs. His touch always lingering, always just on the line of affectionate. He knows he shouldn't love you like he does, but he can't help it. You're always together, where you go he must follow. It's his duty, his privilege, his honor to be at your beck and call. Youve never said anything, but anyone can see you return his affections, of all the men that could escort you to events its always Ghost. The throne has stopped trying to set up meetings between you and potential suitors, it's pointless when Ghost is always there. Everyone assumes he's had you anyway. He hasn't, he would never deign to touch something as precious as you. Not that he doesn't want to, he fantasizes about it when he's alone, imagines all the ways he'd make you beg while he fists his cock, but he assumes that at some point you'll find a real match. Imagine how much it crushes him to hear you're getting married. Imagine his surprise when you tell him it's his wedding too.

#simon ghost riley #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #x reader #cod x reader #gn!reader #except the last one thats #f!reader #because i love a knight and a princess #medieval au #ooh i love big strong men and castles and swords

[emthimofnight]

Getting To Know You

AO3 Link:

Summary: Sonic knows Shadow as an enemy, a rival, and an ally—but a friend and co-parent? Hardly. With their newfound daughter fast asleep, Sonic takes the opportunity to get to know his other half a bit better.

“Well, Stellar is finally asleep.”

Sonic turned his head to follow the voice of his long time rival, Shadow, as he announced his entrance into the living room. He could read the exhaustion in Shadow's body language immediately, even from where he was currently seated on the couch. The game show Sonic had been watching on the TV faded into the background as his focus was drawn elsewhere.

“Oh, yeah?” He answered. “That's good. She took a while to settle down this time.”

Shadow shuffled over, grunting in half-hearted response as he unceremoniously collapsed into the couch beside Sonic. Sonic watched as Shadow craned his neck backwards, resting his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes. Now that he was closer, Sonic could clearly see how messy his quills were; something that was out of character for the black hedgehog. 

Feeling brave, he reached out to pluck a loose quill from Shadow's head, flicking it away with a quick snap of his fingers. A few weeks ago, he would have surely been rewarded for such a breach of Shadow's personal space with a growl or a threat, but now all his rival could muster was a quick, non-threatening glare in his direction. Sonic smiled in return.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Stray quill.”

“You're lucky I'm tired,” Shadow grumbled, failing to sound intimidating. 

“Oh, wow.” Sonic turned his body to face Shadow's more readily, the space between them thinning by a small margin. “The Ultimate Lifeform? Tired? Who are you?”

Shadow turned his head slightly in Sonic's direction, cracking a half smile. Sonic had noticed he'd been doing that more lately—smiling—and he couldn't shake the happy flutter of his heart at the sight. It was nice to get along with Shadow. As much as he enjoyed their fights, he had always wished the two of them could be friends, even in a minor capacity. Turns out, the push they needed to get along was co-parenting their illegal government experiment baby. Who knew?

“The only reason you are not tired is that I always do all the work,” Shadow replied quickly, sounding a smidgen annoyed with Sonic’s teasing, yes, but amused regardless.

“Hey, that's a low blow!” Sonic grinned. “You and I both know she likes you better. She never settles down for me!”

“That's because you spend more time goofing around with her than actually trying to put her to sleep.”

“I only try to tire her out! The kid has tons of energy!”

“You only succeed in riling her up,” Shadow retorted. 

“Oh, c'mon, Shads. She loves you. I think she must have, like—imprinted on you when you pulled her outta that test tube. It's a miracle she doesn't cry whenever you leave the room anymore.”

Shadow made a soft, “hmm” in response. He seemed somewhat pleased by Sonic's admission. 

“Maybe,” he said quietly. He almost seemed lost in thought for a moment, a pregnant pause hanging in the air. Sonic held his tongue, something that he was learning how to do more frequently as of late. It took him a bit to figure it out, but Shadow seems to speak his mind more often if he can just shut up and try to listen. Rewarding Sonic for a rare display of patience, Shadow continued, “It's so strange to have someone rely on you so completely.” 

Shadow glanced his way, his eyes expectant. It seemed he was waiting for Sonic to interject.

Apparently, Shadow had him figured out, too.

“Yeah,” Sonic bobbed his head in a steady nod. “Honestly, I never really imagined being a dad. Never thought I’d make a good one.”

“Neither did I,” Shadow admitted. “I don’t even know if I can have children through… Conventional means, so to speak. I don’t think it was ever intended for me to be able to reproduce.”

Sonic bit his tongue, resisting the knee-jerk reaction to tease Shadow about “conventional means of reproduction” and what that might entail, knowing that would be a quick way to shut down their conversation if he wasn’t careful. He and Shadow had certainly gotten closer as a result of this parenting partnership, but there were still boundaries that weren’t meant to be crossed.

“Guess it doesn’t matter either way,” Sonic shrugged. “We’re here now, and we’ve gotta make the most of it.”

“Hmm,” Shadow hummed in agreement. “I guess so.”

For a moment, there was silence. Sonic found himself at a loss as to what he should say next, something that was happening to him more regularly in Shadow’s presence. Keeping the peace between the two of them meant he had to make an active effort not to antagonize the other hedgehog, but that also left him a bit confused as to how he should interact with him. This whole situation caused him to realize that he and Shadow rarely had regular, non-world-destroying contact, and now the guy was around all the time! He was so used to punches flying between them that casual conversation had him floundering awkwardly.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Shadow said suddenly, cutting through the haze of Sonic’s thoughts. It was like he could read his mind, sometimes. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shadow’s tone was something he couldn’t quite recognize. Shadow rolled his wrist, gesturing in circular motions with his hand, clawing at the air as if trying to conjure his thoughts into something tangible that he could grasp. “It’s… Hard to deal with.”

Sonic blinked incredulously, his surprise apparent on his features. Shadow gave him a glare and a curl of his lip, showing the pointed tip of one of his fangs, frustration creasing his brow. For once, Shadow was filling the silence between them.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shadow growled.

“Wait—are you saying that you like when I talk?”

Shadow pinched the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t say that. I’m just used to you talking all the time. I don’t—” a sigh, “I’m not good with conversation.” 

Sonic felt his quills prickle with a foreign sense of delight. It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but it was close enough to one that it made him a bit giddy all the same. 

Sonic chuckled. “You know what’s crazy? I’ve been trying to talk less.”

Shadow raised an eyebrow, face contorting in confusion. “What? Why?”

Sonic, slightly sheepish, replied, “Well, uh…  You talk more when I’m not talking, so. Been trying not to steamroll our conversations.”

Confusion still colored Shadow’s facial expression, his ruby eyes focusing on Sonic’s face. Sonic chose to admire a corner of the room instead to avoid the intensity of his stare. 

“You? Trying to listen when I’m talking to you? Are you dying?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Sonic answered dryly. “Just figured if we are going to be parenting a kid together, I should probably get to know you outside of how hard you can kick me in the head.”

A snort of laughter came from Shadow, a sound that felt like a reward in its own right. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’s managed to get Shadow to laugh. 

“A remarkable display of forethought for someone as impulsive as you,” Shadow teased. 

“Ahh, the art of the backhanded compliment. A Shadow the Hedgehog specialty,” Sonic taunted back. “Seriously, though! Tell me your favorite color or something. For all the bad guy butt we’ve kicked together over the years, I feel like I don’t know you all that well.”

Shadow was smiling in earnest—at least, as earnest as someone like Shadow could muster. “That’s what’s top of your list? My favorite color?”

“It’s a start!” Sonic replied. “Since I know you are dying to know, mine’s red. Blue is a close second, though.”

Shadow rolled his eyes, his amusement betraying his attempt at brushing Sonic off. “Why am I not surprised…”

“C’mon, Shadow! This is what the more extroverted types call an icebreaker. Humor me?”

Shadow’s eyes were on him again, analyzing his motivations for this line of questioning silently. If there was one thing Sonic knew about Shadow, whether he decided to answer would be determined by his ego. Shadow was paused in consideration, so Sonic once again chose to wait for whatever answer Shadow would give him. 

“...Green,” he said quickly, eyes drifting elsewhere as he folded his arms across his chest. 

Sonic felt his pulse quicken with excitement. Shadow was actually entertaining his attempt to know more about him! He never thought he’d find the idea of knowing his rival’s favorite color so appealing.

“So you do have one! I was prepared for you to tell me you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” Shadow quickly asserted. “But,” he continued, “if I had to pick, green is probably it.” 

“Cool,” Sonic said softly, the knowledge of Shadow’s favorite color finding a happy little spot to nest in his brain. “How about, uh… Weather? Do you have a favorite kind of weather?”

Shadow gave him a put-upon frown. “Are you going to keep asking me dumb questions?”

“You’re allowed to ask me dumb questions too, you know,” Sonic reminded.

“Bold of you to assume I have any.”

Sonic smirked, “I’m sure you do.”

Shadow let out a bark of dry laughter, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

In a moment of honesty, Sonic replied, “Yeah, man. I would.”

Shadow stared back in silent reply, his eyes scanning Sonic’s face for any signs of deception or trickery. He clearly hadn’t expected that answer.

“...Spring weather is nice.”

Sonic perked up. “You don’t mind the rain?”

Shadow seemed almost sheepish, suddenly. One of his ears twitched in agitation, a growl escaping his lips. If Sonic had to guess, Shadow didn’t appreciate Sonic’s prodding for a deeper explanation. Even so, he still made the choice to answer, “I… Like the flowers, I guess. Maria liked flowers.”

Ah. Maria. The main reason for a lot of the things Shadow did. 

“That’s a pretty good reason,” Sonic smiled, his tone of voice gentle. “Perfect weather for a long run.”

Shadow peered at him out of the corner of his eye. “What about you?”

“A nice sunny day with a good breeze is killer,” Sonic answered. “Man, I just love the feeling of the wind in my quills, yanno?”

Shadow nodded, humming in agreement. Despite the tension in his shoulders, he did seem to soften slightly as their conversation went on. It might just be a result of his exhaustion, but he seemed less rigid than usual. 

“I suppose I should ask you a question, then,” Shadow said, his voice almost sounding a bit amused. He shot Sonic a knowing look, clearly recognizing his interest would get a reaction out of him. 

He wasn't wrong, Sonic couldn't manage to stifle the smile that broke out across his face.

“Yeah, feel free!” Sonic encouraged, “I'm an open book.”

Shadow was staring at him again, and for a moment Sonic wondered if he had managed to scare him off from asking his question. Shadow didn't leave him hanging for long, though.

“...Why did you agree to this?”

Sonic blinked incredulously. Leave it to Shadow to ask the hard questions.

“Like… What? This game, or…?”

“Stellar,” Shadow affirmed. “Why did you agree to help me with Stellar?”

Sonic leaned back into the couch, scratching at his chin with a gloved finger. “Hmm. Good question.”

Why did he agree to this? He'd never really wanted kids, and he certainly never imagined having them with his rival. It was a concept that was so far outside the realm of possibility that to say the whole scenario blindsided him would be an understatement.

“…Well, it’s the right thing to do, for one. I could tell that you were kind of at a loss as to what you should do with her. You so rarely ask for help—especially from me—that I had to give it a try. Besides, you and I have overcome all kinds of crazy challenges in the past, how hard could this be?”

“It's by no means easy,” Shadow thought aloud. “But… It is easier than it would be if I were doing this alone, so. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

Sonic felt his heart do something funny in his chest. It reminded him of the sensation he'd get right before a roller coaster hit its first drop. He suddenly felt the urge to go on a run.

“Did you just thank me? You sure you don't have a fever or something?” Sonic teased. Even now, as he finally managed to earn genuine answers from his rival, he couldn’t stop himself from defaulting back to their usual banter. 

To his surprise, Shadow didn’t growl, glare, or move to swat at him with his hand. Instead, he let out a short chuff of laughter, his gaze drifting away and up towards the ceiling. 

“I must,” Shadow sighed, not sounding all that bothered. “Or maybe I’m just more tired than I thought.”

Sonic smiled, his expression softening as he observed the other hedgehog. His posture was uncharacteristically relaxed, his body succumbing to the comforts of the couch. Even the Ultimate Lifeform couldn’t fight the exhaustion that came with caring for a fussy baby day in and day out, it seemed. Granted, most baby hedgehogs weren’t capable of teleporting on a whim. Perhaps their unique circumstances were what truly crumbled Shadow’s typical unyielding resolve.

“Take it easy, then,” Sonic said gently. “Catch some Z’s while you can.”

Shadow turned his cheek slightly, peeking at Sonic suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. He was clearly looking for an ulterior motive etched into Sonic’s features. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” Sonic protested. “I’m serious. I’m not going to mess with you while you sleep, and if Stellar wakes up, I can handle it!”

“I don’t trust you to handle anything,” Shadow muttered, lacking the usual bite in his words. 

“Hey,” Sonic half-laughed, “you could try.” 

“Hmm,” a hum of consideration. “For once, I think I might be too tired to argue with you.”

“That makes it sound like you enjoy it.”

“You’re delusional,” Shadow smirked before turning his face skyward once more, this time allowing his eyes to drift closed. “I’ll just rest my eyes for now. If you try anything, I’ll make you regret it.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sonic replied, shifting his weight a bit to get more comfortable in his own position. “I’ll just be thinking of more questions to annoy you with while you recharge.” 

When his teasing wasn’t met with a response, Sonic allowed himself to observe the other hedgehog more freely. It was easier to absorb Shadow’s features when he wasn’t sitting on the other end of his intense stare. 

‘He couldn’t have fallen asleep that quickly, could he?’ Sonic pondered, peering at the remarkably relaxed face of his fellow co-parent. His breathing was slow and steady, his chest rising with every breath, making the snowy poof of hair that resided there a distraction for Sonic’s eyes. He was never able to grow any fur on his own chest—at least, not to that length—so he had always found himself a bit fascinated with the singular spot of white on the other hedgehog. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, of course.

For a brief moment, he considered what it might feel like to touch the silky-looking tufts of fur, before quickly stamping that thought right back down where it came from. Sonic might be an adrenaline junkie, sure, but he certainly didn’t have a death wish. Without thinking, though, he must have drifted a bit closer into Shadow’s space, because he was soon met with that annoyed ruby glare once more.

“What?” Shadow growled, his hostile edge returning to his voice as his suspicion in Sonic was heightened. 

Sonic moved away quickly, letting out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I thought for a second you’d already fallen asleep,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was just a bit amazed, is all. Made me realize that I haven’t really seen you sleep before.”

Shadow rolled his eyes before closing them once more, shimmying his shoulders a bit to settle deeper into the couch cushions. “I’m not going to sleep at all if you keep staring at me like that. Watch your stupid show.”

Sonic blinked, turning his head back to the TV he had been watching before Shadow had entered the room. Right. He’d actually been paying attention to that before he found himself distracted with Shadow’s presence. He wasn’t actually sure what was going on with it anymore, but it was a welcome escape from his own impulses to pester Shadow. It wasn’t like he actually wanted to bother the guy, it was just hard to adjust his behavior to fit their new normal. He was so used to their relationship being full of banter and petty competitions that he didn’t know how to just exist around the guy. 

He stole a quick glance in Shadow’s direction before refocusing on the television. From Shadow’s aloofness, it seemed he didn’t know how to exist around him, either. 

The silence between them was filled with the sounds of mindless reality TV entertainment, and Sonic felt himself slowly starting to relax. He hadn’t really noticed before, but his own guard was up when Shadow was around, too. It might not be the same kind of hostility that Shadow displayed, but it was still there. He might have asked Shadow to trust him, but that didn’t mean he trusted Shadow. 

He felt a tiny pang of guilt—what for, he wasn’t exactly sure. Yes, he’d always wished he and Shadow could get along, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the thrill of fighting with him. Being the fastest thing alive meant he was often leaving others behind, but that wasn’t the case with Shadow. Shadow was one of—if not the only—person that could keep up with him. If they became friends, did that mean Shadow would stop chasing him? Would he stop trying to surpass him? He wasn’t entirely sure he was willing to give that thrill up just yet. 

A soft, unfamiliar noise pulled Sonic from the depths of his thoughts. His ear twitched, finding the sound was coming from the black hedgehog that rested beside him. Did he just—?

A rasping exhalation of breath from Shadow’s nostrils confirmed it. Shadow the Hedgehog, the Ultimate Lifeform, was snoring. Not the kind of snore that was disruptive or cacophonous, but the sort that was soft, rumbling, and endearing. Sonic almost couldn’t believe his ears. 

A smile wormed its way onto his face as he observed Shadow in his slumber, a newfound fondness settling in his chest at the sight. 

‘Just going to rest your eyes, huh?’ He thought to himself, amused. 

Maybe he and Shadow’s relationship was going to be different from now on, but perhaps that didn’t have to be a bad thing. If the giddy feeling in his chest was any indication, there might be some thrills to find in this new alliance after all. 

#my writing #my fic #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #sonic fanfiction #sonadow #shadonic #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #stellar the hedgehog #sonadow fanchild #sonic fankid #sonadow fankid #sth #sonic #shadow #shadow x sonic #sonic x shadow #sonic prime #sonic x #first fic in a long time haha #hopefully you all like it! #fankid au

[ghcstao3]

Hi I know this is silly but what if soap and ghost had friendship bracelets and someone stole soaps and ghost who said he didn’t care about them (he never took his off) goes feral tracking it down for soap who was inconsolable because he lost something ghost trusted him with.

Have a lovely day

firstly!! apologies for getting to this so late. secondly!! not silly at all this is so cute

-

There’s nothing particular about the day other than the fact that Ghost’s first thought upon seeing Soap, is that the sergeant looks like shit.

His mohawk is unkempt in spite of the risks Soap already runs bordering the edge of what is considered regulation, and there’s bags under his eyes that tell Ghost he hasn’t slept, at the very least since the day prior.

Ghost waits too long for his liking for a moment available to pull him aside and sort out the matter. No matter the issue, a distracted sergeant isn’t ideal for carrying out their duties.

When Soap barely reacts to Ghost grabbing his arm, Ghost figures there must be something properly wrong.

“What’s going on with you?” Ghost asks, his voice kept low.

Heartbroken, Ghost thinks, is the right word to describe how he feels when Soap looks up at him with a deep exhaustion.

Soap only shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, LT. Just a bad day, s’all.”

Ghost huffs. “You and I both know that’s bullshit, Johnny.”

Soap sighs, shrugging off Ghost’s hold. He scrubs at his face with the heels of his palms, and while that might otherwise help to disperse some of his worry—Soap only seems to tense further.

“I know you said you don’t care, but…” Soap sighs again, his shoulder slumping as his arms fall back to his sides in defeat. “I lost the bracelet. Someone took it or somethin’ and it’s… it’s missing. I’m sorry, I—“

“Johnny,” Ghost cuts in, “you don’t have to apologize. It happens.”

“Aye, but it’s still—“ Soap suddenly pauses and shakes his head, arms wrapping around himself. “I still feel bad.”

“You said someone took it?”

Soap’s eyes snap to Ghost’s, widening just momentarily as he processes the question. Slowly, though, he nods.

Ghost hums. That’s something he can certainly work with.

“Then don’t let it mess too much with your head,” Ghost says. “You’re not helpful to anyone like this.”

Soap’s brows drawn together, the pout on his lips pulling into a frown—but he doesn’t have the chance to get a word in, not before Ghost is patting his shoulder and stalking off with a new task in mind.

* * *

Guilt, Soap thinks, has always been an ugly emotion.

It’s not something he experiences often, and while this seems like something far too small to feel such anguish over—he can’t help but feel like the shittiest person in the world. He’d lost something Ghost had given to him, trusted him with, even if he had said he doesn’t care what Soap does with it.

It had been on top of his things when he went to shower. He knows it was, because it always is, but this time when he goes to get redress it’s gone. And he panics. He worries the rest of the day and doesn’t sleep trying to find it.

Then Ghost notices, Ghost finds out, and that guilt increases with ferocity. Even when Ghost seems so calm about it, so unbothered.

Soap’s feet drag throughout the day, even after his talk with Ghost. He tries to act like everything is fine, and can’t help but feel immense relief when he’s finally allowed to return to his room, about ready to collapse from exhaustion.

And there, sitting neatly on his bed, is the bracelet.

No note accompanies it, nor is there any sign of anyone having really been in his room beyond the bracelet, but it’s still there. It isn’t lost.

Though weary, Soap can’t help the small smile that appears on his face.

He supposes he should’ve known better than to think Ghost didn’t care.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #writing

[avenging-fandoms]

joel is touch starved and once you kiss him, he'd whimper against your lips and pull you in tighter ‼️😩

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

It had been years since Joel was touched nicely or kissed passionately. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want it, but he had more important things to worry about.

And then you came along.

You made him nervous. He was never nervous around women before while the world was in shambles. He met you while you two were working, and he would make a smart comment and you fired back.

Enter Ellie, he was more drawn to you as he saw you taking care of her. You guys found a spot in the woods and Ellie looked at you, to which you nod, Joel inspecting it for anything. She found a spot under the rocks and set up her sleeping area.

You head over to her and crouch down, Joel watching your every move as you smooth a hand over her hair. "Get some sleep, Elle. We've got a long day ahead of us" She nods and turns the other way, back to you and Joel.

You head back over to Joel who gathered nearby sticks, throwing them in a pile. "I'm gonna go out there.. see if I can find bigger sticks"

"I'll do it, Joel. You watch Ellie" you start to walk past him but he grabs your bicep.

"I just said I was going, must you be so goddamn stubborn?" You laugh and push his hand off.

"I'm stubborn. I'm stubborn? You are literally the most stubborn person I have ever met! It's your way or no way"

"But we're still alive, aren't we?" He fired back and looked at you, nose barely an inch from yours. He was trying to intimidate you, but you got another feeling.

You didn't know what you were doing. Your hands were moving faster than your brain. You had no time to think, you just did.

You grabbed his face and pulled him down, hand falling to his neck as you kissed him. Joel's right hand gripped your bicep, humming. He pulls away, and you fear you fucked everything up.

But you didn't.

Joel pulled you back in, hand tightly gripping your jacket as he pulled you in by your back. Your pelvis hit his, arm around his neck as he drank you in. The shape of your lips, the way you kiss. Your breath. Your sounds. He was taking it all in.

Joel whimpered softly as you gripped his hair and you pulled away. "Okay cowboy" You spoke out of breath, hand now on his chest. He didn't let go of you.

"I've waited for you for so long" He whispered, pushing your head up with his nose and kissing you again. Neither of you had realized Ellie woke up to the yelling, and stayed to watch the romantic scene going on.

Joel went to go get sticks and you went back with Ellie. "Couldn't sleep?" You ask as you walk into the cave.

"I was, then I heard you two yelling"

"Oh yeah, sorry. You know Joel.." You laugh awkwardly and Ellie hums, stepping closer to you. "You saw didn't you"

"Of course I saw, Yn! You fuckin' kiss Joel! Hopefully he's not a grumpy asshole anymore"

"Don't get your hopes up, kid" Joel drops some sticks, heading back out into the woods, both you and Ellie laughing.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #joel miller imagines #joel miller blurb #joel miller blurbs #joel miller fic #joel miller fics #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller drabble #joel miller fluff #the last of us #ellie williams #pedro pascal

[azulock]

I'm trying to slide out of a creative slump, with smut, of course. I've been meaning to write some somno for Oli, but only now I got around to it, I also totally want to write somno but with reader awake for Oli later too. oh, also, since I know some people find it unsexy, Oliver uses lube on this fic

summary. Oliver arrives ltae at home one night after his flight is delayed, feeling horny and missing you, and the fact that you are asleep isn't going to stop his desires, in fact, it only spurs them on

pairing. Oliver Aiku x fem!reader

wordcount. 1,4k

warnings. nsfw (piv), consensual somnophilia, sliver of a breeding kink

Oliver Aiku who arrives home later than expected after his flight back from a match got delayed for a long couple of hours. he's tired, but not tired enough that the sight of you, sleeping curled up around a pillow, wearing one of his t-shirts doesn't have an effect on him. you must have fallen asleep while waiting for him, what with the phone laying by your sprawled hand, and the blinds still left open, moonlight shining over your form. god, you looked so beautiful, he could hardly control himself - not that he was planning on it anyway.

He approaches the bed in large strides, making the mattress dip with his weight when he climbs onto it. you still remain asleep, even when his hand touches your waist over the fabric of his shirt you only barely stir. you'd always been a heavy sleeper, especially when tired - and honestly, Oliver was happy for that, it was a trait he was glad to cherish.

With a devilish smile he leans down and kisses your cheek, lovingly nuzzling his face against yours as his hand travels from your waist to your hip. he pulls himself up to a sitting position again when his fingers find the hem of the shirt you are wearing. his hand slides over your bare skin and Oliver can feel himself already hard at the soft warm touch. he slides your - his - shirt up ever so slowly, teasing himself by taking his time in revealing the skin of your ass, covered by the soft lace of your panties.

So fucking pretty - it has his cock throbbing already.

Oliver grunts lowly, letting his hand travel between your legs as you lay on your side, body still snuggled to the pillow. his long fingers slide over the underside of your panties to find the spot where your clit sits under the lace, touching it over the fabric. you stir a bit and he smiles, playing with your body to see if he gets a reaction. his flesh demands that he indulge in something else, that he slide into your sleeping body already, filling your vulnerable hole to the brim, but Oliver likes to take his time.

It was no mystery to himself that he'd been always drawn to things that were questionable to most. and this certainly was one of those things - one he was glad you were more than welcoming towards. so if he could indulge in it freely, he didn't really need to hush. this wasn't the first time he'd get to fuck your sleeping body, and it wouldn't be the last.

And so indulge he does, fingers playing with your clit and folds as his lips find your neck and jaw. you must be so exhausted that you only barely whine in your sleep, remaining unconscious, warm body entrusted to his care. Oliver found it something intimate, loving too, and so fucking hot, of course. it really rallies him up, and he drinks the privilege like a man dying of thirst.

It doesn't take long for his body's need to scream louder, making him reluctantly remove his hands from your skin to look for the lube in the nightstand. there were some days when Oliver would be happy just to fuck himself between your legs, satisfied to just get to play with you in this state. but today he really wanted to bury himself deep into your unconscious hole, to fuck you nice and easy until you were filled with his cum.

When he has gotten the bottle Oliver snuggles closer to you, his chest pressed against your back as he pulls his cock out of his sweatpants. veins already pop around the thick shaft, the whole thing looking red and painfully hard, precum leaking from his swollen tip. fuck, he'd missed you so much, missed the warm embrace of your wet pussy, the way it wrapped around his massive length. and just the thought of being this close to feeling it again had him breathing hard

A large hand wraps around his cock, pumping the shaft up and down and slathering it with lube in the process, the sensation pulling a hiss from Oliver before he uses that same hand to push your panties to the side and spread the lube over your pussy. coming even closer, he pulls your hips to his own, moaning lowly when he feels his sensitive tip touch your entrance. he resists the urge to just shove himself into you, slowly pushing his cock into your soft pussy, revealing in the sensation of your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

Oh, how he loves the way even asleep you still feel like such a perfect fit for him.

It's downright torture for Oliver having to try and keep quiet when he finally buries himself to the hilt within you. he bites his lower lip but can't help the low grunt that escapes from deep in his chest, his large hand digging into your hip. it feels so good that he finds himself mumbling against the skin of your clothed shoulder as he starts moving his hips back and forth, seeking the pleasure already building within himself. the delicious friction of your walls as they drag on his cock with every movement have him wish peeing praises and love confessions into your shoulder like a madman.

His movements start off slow and heavy, a steady and passionate pace as Oliver pulls your body impossibly close to his own, one hand on your hip while the other slips under your body, arm snaking around your waist to keep you snug. you smell so good and feel so soft and warm, Oliver can't really get enough, it always feels like he needs more and more. it's like a drug, one he rejects the very thought of giving up.

Try as he might, the slow pace doesn't last very long, though. soon he gives into his instincts, hips moving faster as he chases after the high that your body brings to him. still, Oliver tries as much as possible to be careful and quiet not to wake you up. in the large vastness of your room, all he can hear are your occasional whines and his muffled grunts, along with the wet noises from his large, throbbing length burying itself into your soft pussy again and again.

It doesn't take too long for him to be panting, teeth sinking hard into his lower lip as Oliver fights back the noises bubbling in his throat. it's like air evades him, breathing hard as every rope of muscle in his body contracts, tightening to a painful degree as feels the pleasure building higher and higher within, the coil in his gut coming so close to snap.

Oliver chases after that feeling like a bloodhound, the same type of primal needs driving him as they would an actual dog - the utter need to fuck you hard and plant his cum deep into your body. it's not like he has a thing for breeding, not like he imagines it often, but sometimes he does, especially after he'd spent too long away from you. and right now, he can't brush the thought away from his mind, the thought of planting a baby into you right now, as your unconscious body lays snug in his arms.

God, if you'd let him, he's pretty sure he'd just fucking break.

And right now, just that fantasy is enough to have him snapping, whole body shuddering as he pushes himself into you, twitching cock buried all the way to the hilt into your soft and warm pussy. his body tenses as sees white, painting your insides with his cum, one hand wrapped tight around your waist, the other pulling your hips impossibly closer. his orgasm feels like it lasts forever and it has Oliver repeating 'I love you's into your shoulder like a broken record as his length throbs and pumps rope after thick rope of his load deep into your pussy until his heavy balls feel empty.

Breathless and spent, Oliver snuggles closer, getting comfortable around your body. when you wake up tomorrow you gonna be a little sore - and a lot full. but it wouldn't be the first time you'd wake up with his cock in your pussy, keeping a sticky mess safely inside you, nor would it be the last time either. but that's a surprise for tomorrow, for now he just kisses your face and lets the warmth of your body lull him into the most peaceful sleep.

sponsored by: @tinnaagine @loser-vxbez @kiurona @bentolover @bevernats @weirdbutpr3tty @ada7201 @vollereix @rinitosh @kum1ko-chan @romanticizemai @oneandonlykuronacuddler @borisbq @priv-rose @eliezeer @elisacarynia @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife @qichun @oliveraikusweatyshirt

#oliver aiku x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #oliver aiku smut #oliver aiku

[peachesofteal]

Floorplan

Steve Rogers/female reader 2.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Nomad era Steve. Reader and Steve have a baby together, mention of pregnancy. Possessive Steve Rogers. Praise kink. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Orgasm delay/denial. Could be considered toxic. Steve has issues with boundaries. Angst. Steve Rogers is keeping a secret.

Steve Rogers is keeping a secret. 

It’s heavy, heavier than most, this you know without a doubt, because you carry it as well, it’s existence a variable in your life that you never expected, never even imagined, if you’re being honest. 

A variable that ties him to you, indefinitely. For eternity. For better or for worse, without the papers or proof, the only exception being the small infant that sleeps in the room down the hall, while her father has you pinned against the bed, fingers digging into your thighs, splaying your body wide for him to do as he wishes, because you’re so fucking weak.

“Steve.” You hiss, word drawn loud from your mouth when the tip of his tongue works in tandem with his fingers, playing your clit easily, hips eagerly rocking against his face. 

“Pillow, honey. Don’t want to be too loud.” He murmurs a reminder into your cunt, crooking a finger up against that spot, the sweet spot that waits for him inside your body, working you into a mindless haze, building you up closer and closer to an orgasm until you’re panting, curve of your spine shining with a glimmer of sweat. “That’s it, that’s it. Almost there.” He hums, pulling away at the last second to peek up at your face, beard wet with you, absolutely soaked with your arousal. It glistens in the low light of your bedroom, and he smirks before going back to his meal, dotting gentle and slow kisses down the inside of your thigh that make you whisper desperate pleas. 

“Steve, please, don’t-“ Don’t stop. Keep going. Please, please, please. 

“Shhh. I know.” He coos. “Just need to get you ready for me sweetheart, that’s all.” And, if you weren’t so lost in the haze of your pleasure right now, you’d probably have something sharp to say in response. He always does this. Brings you to the edge over, and over, makes you wild for him, ache for him, just so he can pluck your strings perfectly, harmonize your need with his since your mind won’t budge, his possession of your body always tipping you over the cliff and into his arms, every time, without fail. 

Even a sailor lost at sea needs an anchor. 

And he is lost, has been, for some time. Since Bucky. Since Tony. Since he broke everyone out of the raft and went on the run, dipping in and out of towns and cities across the globe. 

That’s how you met him. That’s how you brought him home one night, that turned into two, that turned into more, and more. Your greed, your desire overriding your good sense because he was leaving soon, and he wouldn’t be around, and it’s all just some fun- I can keep a secret, Steve, you don’t have to hide from me. You’re safe with me. We’re not even together, just enjoying each other’s company, yeah?

You never thought you would survive it, loving him. Loving a man who’s not a man at all, who’s lost in the wilderness, who’s relearning everything about himself and the world all at once. Cast out by his country, his own namesake. Living on the run. Living with his band of misfit toys. 

So, you kept it to yourself, even though he didn’t. Even though you heard him whisper it to you in the middle of the night, when he thought you must be asleep. Even though it felt like obsession, possession, both ends burning the midnight oil. You kept it to yourself, kept the smile on your face, kept the swell of your emotions at bay. 

If you don’t love him, it won’t be as bad, when he goes. When they move on. 

Then, Steve Rogers did something he didn’t even know he could do. Something he didn’t intend, he claims, something he was told should be impossible. 

He gave you a baby. 

He gave you a baby, and everything changed. 

You’re just about to spit out something insistent, something needy, as he calls it, when you’re being moved, flipped over to your belly with no warning, the warmth of his chest bleeding across your back. His beard tickles against your ear, mouth pressing sweet kisses to your temple, and you can smell yourself on him, the proof of your weakness for him all over his face. 

“Here we go, good girl. I’ve got you.” The solid weight of his cock lays between you, the spill of his pre come smearing against the inside of your thighs and then inside of you, the heavy, thick head pushing in little by little, your mouth drooping wide on the pillow. 

“Ahh-“ you groan. It bites, the stretch, the sting of it all, and he knows, he loves it, and you do too (even though now you never tell him, because it’s not like before, not like when you weren’t the mother of his child, not like when things were simpler, when you could have walked away, when you weren’t falling down the rabbit hole with a man who has lost his entire identity, his country, his life-)

“God, honey. What a sweet little pussy you have for me, huh?” His teeth find the skin of your neck, below your jaw, and they graze with a nip, light pressure to punctuate his ownership. For me. For me, for me, for me. “Just perfect. My perfect, good girl.” You try to bite back the moan that rises in your throat but it’s impossible, and he’s no fool, the curl of his smile imprints across your skin, cock sawing in and out of your body like you were made for it. 

He says you were, of course. That you were made for him, and for no one else, and he doesn’t care what happens in the next year, or two, or ten. You’ll always be his. He’ll always come back. He’ll always be here. 

“What will you do if… when you go home, to America?”

“I’ll bring you both. Put you up in a place. Or maybe I’ll buy you a house, honey. With a white picket fence and everything. Give you another baby. Give you two more babies.”

“Steve-“

“No, no. Don’t.”

“Steve.” You whine, still mouthing the pillow, fingers tight in the sheets. You clench down around him, unable to keep yourself from barreling towards your orgasm any longer, and he whispers encouragement in your ear, soft praise of how good you feel and how wet and are you going to come for me, honey? You going to give a me a good one? Let me feel you squeezing my cock with it?

Your first orgasm comes with ease. So does your second. 

Your third comes with tears that he laps up across your cheek, as too many words get stuck in your throat. I love you. I hate you. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you to leave. 

It builds, each time he slips inside the house at night, each time you come home from work or errands and he’s sitting on the couch reading a book, or sketching, just waiting for you and Emmaline. It builds and builds, when he’s got you bent over the kitchen table, cheek pressed to the wood, sinking his cock into your body with an unmatched fury, breathing claims of ownership against your skin. Mine, for me. My girls. My baby. 

“Maybe I’ll give you another. Fill you up until you’re overflowing, get you pregnant.” It’s an overload, a killshot straight to your heart, your nervous system, and it engulfs you in fire, your body clenching around his cock involuntarily, like all it wants is to be bred by him, fucked deep with his come until you’re round with his baby, again. And he knows it, knows it too well. Sees the way your eyes shutter, can feel the way your body begs for it. You want to come, and he’ll torture you with it, dragging it out until you’re breaking apart. “Go ahead, tell me honey. Say it, do you want it?” 

“Y-yes, please. Please, daddy.” 

Everything you carry, all the tangles, the snarled mess that exists in your heart for him surges, and his hand sneaks between the mattress and your body to cup your belly, palm warm like a brand. Like it’s always been, now, and before- 

He holds you from behind, hands flush overtop your navel, stroking the roundness of your stomach with longing affection. 

“How’re my girls today?” 

“Tired.” You shift, and he hums in response. You’re about to snap at him about being here in the first place, remind him he can’t just use his key whenever, let himself inside whenever, but his hands drift to the bottom of your belly and lift, robbing you of all the lectures and rebuttals as the pressure on your spine is instantly relieved. 

“That better sweetheart?” 

He’s deep, so deep that it burns, head of his cock punching against your cervix, hitting that spot repeatedly. You gasp, burying your face in the pillow, smothering the shriek of your moans. He’s close, you can tell, you can feel it, the way his muscles start to become rock, the strike of his hips against your ass moving you further up the bed until your neck is craning to the side to avoid the headboard.

“Here it comes honey, lie still, just- just let me- let me give it to you.” It’s a stammered slur being pushed out through a too tense jaw, restraint burning in his muscles, arms cradling you like a precious, rare gem to be coveted, something more important than duty and a shield. 

Later, he’s still in your bed, even though he said he wouldn’t be. 

He’s heavy, and hot, so hot that you don’t need a blanket when he holds you. You find it fascinating, even more curious that your own child runs hotter than normal too, more evidence of the clear truth that both you and Steve are working vigilantly to hide and disguise. 

“You should sleep.” He’s insistent, and your lashes flutter closed with a big breath. 

“You don’t have to stay.” He wants to. He’s stubborn about it. It’s the reason he gave for appearing on your doorstep earlier. 

“Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come sooner.” 

“It’s not like I know where you are these days.” 

“Don’t. Don’t… start this.” 

“She has colic, Steve. There’s not much you’re going to be able to do, we just have to ride it out.” 

“I don’t care. I’m here.” 

He was the one who had managed getting Emmaline to sleep earlier, rocking her in his arms until she settled, sweet little baby finally succumbing to lullaby of sweet dreams in her dad’s arms. 

He’s so good at it, taking care of her, understanding what she needs and when, that you hardly sputtered a protest when he clicked her door shut and pulled you in for a kiss, pushing you into your own bedroom and laying you out on your back, a hand pinning your stomach to the sheets, another gripping your thigh wide for him, his strength forcing your body into a trap, where you were powerless. Stuck.  

“I guess I gotta put both my girls to bed, right? Isn’t that what you needed? Just needed daddy here, honey?”  

“Close your eyes, sweetheart. I’ll get her, when she gets up.” The fire of his skin makes everything in the room feel heavy, feel heady, and it’s so easy to slip into your imagination to pretend, dream about a world where your relationship wasn’t shattered, where Emmaline’s dad wasn’t just a shadow in the dark half the time he’s in the house, in her life, in yours. 

“You can’t just keep coming here, acting like everything is normal.” You whisper to the ceiling, but he doesn’t respond, just hums into your skin, deaf to your sense, your logic. 

You’re right. You know you are. Why can’t he just see that?

“Steve.” You pick at him. Pushing and pushing, careening closer to a breaking point, an inevitable end when he will sigh with the weight of exasperation, and then ease himself out of bed and disappear into the night. 

“This is the normal, for now.” He says instead, a rebuttal that takes you by surprise, a change in his usual course. Fingers stretch over yours with a yank, pulling you closer into the bend of his body. “But it won’t always be like this. We’ll go home soon.” Home. It sounds nice, but feels like a threat, considering this has been your home for years now, and this was where you were raising Emmaline, and this is where you had settled into life, started a career, put down roots. 

“Steve, I’m already home.” You remind him and he chuckles softly against your brow. 

“Are you?”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #captain america x reader #avengers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #steve rogers smut #peaches writes #steve rogers x female reader #mcu #nomad!steve #nomad!steve rogers #chris evans fanfiction

[starrvsn]

` ִ ꔫ ۫ ⊹ W.CLARK ˖ TIL DEATH DO US PART.

pairing: wally clark x fem!reader. 

what to know | 80% angst with 20% of fluff, comfort. fic, a pretty sappy ending. i do not own these characters and this is all fiction! — lowercase is intended.

word count: 5,280 (oops) 

spoilers: death and characters (also assumptions about characters back story). 

☆ on rotation: hate to be lame by lizzie mcapline. lover sung by taylor swift. she was mine by aj rafael. better for you by siaopaolo.

star left a message! my first fic! hope you enjoy and let me know how you felt about it :)

ab. you and wally were inseparable. bared souls to each other but still dancing around the fact of feelings for each other but one night he gathers the courage to tell you how he feels, things don’t go the way he plans and spirals out of control.

1984.

the soft ringing of a phone rouses you awake, your room dark and cool from the gentle breeze coming through the crack in your window. you rub the drowsiness from your eyes before sitting up. glancing at your clock, beside it is the soft yellow landline that rings, a light but repetitive tone. the red glowing numbers reading 11:51 almost made you regret waking up to pick up the phone but the constant ringing means the caller must be persistent to get ahold of you. clearing your throat you pick up the phone, a soft hello emitting from your lips.

“hey sweetheart” you recognize the voice almost immediately, wally clark your best friend since middle school. you two are inseparable, always attached to the hip and despite his reputation, how popular he was. he never let it hinder your relationship. he always joked that you two were high school sweethearts minus the dating part which also always confused people when you had told them you were just friends but your heart hopes, yearns for more.

“hey, did something happen?” there must’ve been a reason why he called you in the first place but he quickly denies:

“oh-oh no, everything is going well… sorry did i wake you?” his voice comes out rushed, as if he’s trying to speed up the conversation. the tone confuses you but you continue.

“not really, i was just trying to fall asleep.” you softly respond. fiddling with the cord, telling him a small white lie but if there was something about wally was that you never wanted him to feel bad at your expense, always saving him the tinge of guilt that affects him more than you thought. he was a soft soul, sensitive but resilient. one of the things that make you more drawn to him. he was someone who made you feel like you had a purpose in life.

“i, i uhm was wondering if you wanted to go for a drive. i-if not thats totally okay!” you can practically hear himself rubbing his neck. a constant habit he had when he was emmbarrased or unsure. you agree almost immediately. hearing the smile plastered on his face, he boasts about having the car for the night so it was the perfect time to make use of it. he promises he’ll come to get you in a few minutes so you rush to get dressed in warmer clothing compared to your sleep wear. as you wait for him, you couldn’t help but feel curious as to why he wanted to take you out at such a late hour. sure he didn’t get the car to himself often but from his tone you couldn’t help but feel something off. ultimately your mind settles on the fact that he just felt spontaneous and just wanted to spend time with your, knowing how the school year just began and he has been busy with the football team and his parents breathing down his neck, so maybe he needed an escape.

minutes pass and you hear the closing of a car door, then rounds of rubble as if someones walking down the side walk. you don’t know how but every time wally comes around, no matter what the sounds are- you always know it’s him and when you confessed this little sense of yours when he let out a boisterous laugh and told you “you have a little part of me then sweetheart.” that made your heart melt. excited, you softly pad down your steps and open the door before he can even let himself in. you had unlocked the door minutes prior to ensure a silent arrival. wally stands still for a few moments. his gaze focusing on your face, your cheeks blush as moments pass and his movement doesn’t change

“uh, earth to wally?” snapping your fingers in front of him, the taller boy jumps back in surprised wondering how you got there so fast, and how you look so effortlessly beautiful at midnight “done gawking yet clark?” laughing, sounding beautiful to his ears he looks away smiling shyly his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, a repeating his habit. “so where are we going?”becoming the most talkative already, in return there is no response. which is odd coming from you usually commentary filled best friend.

“no hi, how are you? do you not miss me?” lightly shoving his shoulder. you divert the subject to where he could be taking you, the cold air making you shiver as you wait for his response. but instead of giving you one he just leads you to his car across the street, no words exchanged. huffing at the lack of communication you follow him across the street (looking both ways before you cross of course)

the drive to the park is quiet— comfortable silence with the silent play of music fill the air as he drives, you look out the window to stare at the beautiful landscape of the city since wally gives no other form of entertainment to pass time. trying so hard not to stare at him as he drives, you don’t notice obviously since you’re not looking his way but there’s a line of sweat collecting on wally’s hairline but even if you saw you would shrug it off blaming it on his hoodie but no, wally was sweating for a completely different reason. he’s about to change your relationship forever. well, not forever but the outcome can go of two ways, good or bad; with no in-between.

wally clark is going to confess his undying love for you and he feels like he’s gonna throw up from how nervous he is. he didn’t even greet you, that’s how tense he’s feeling he couldn’t even form any coherent word when he saw you, hair ruffled laying in bed with sleepy eyes. it was an image that he wants tattooed on his forehead, dead serious. luckily you didn’t notice how nervous he is because you usually can read him very well additionally, you haven’t asked him anything so he’s relieved to see that nothing he’s done has gotten on your radar yet. well, he didn’t greet you when he picked you up but you just shrugged it off, not thinking to much of it. passing it as oncoming sleepiness from staying up. the ride was filled mostly silence and was also accompanied by mark or your occasion humming, soon you arrive at the park which you immediately recognize as the one where you first met wally, on the swing set late at night when his parent became overbearing. you follow wally out of the car and up a path to a grassy hill out looking the neighborhood and beautiful night sky. he takes a seat and you follow after him, sitting next to him with little space between the two of you.

the scene is quite picturesque, wally wishes he brought his polaroid as he looks up at the stars hoping they’ll talk back to him, talk him out of it or something— maybe some encouragement because he’s been hyping himself up for this moment for so long, okay just for three hours but leading up to this moment he felt like time was moving so slow. the two of you just sit in silence for a while looking at the beautiful night sky until wally speaks up.

“i have something to tell you.” he starts, his voice slightly wavering. you turn immediately to look at him as this is the first thing he’s said to you since he picked you up, a sour feeling rests in your stomach as you process what he said, in fear of hearing what he actually he has to say, you try to figure it out yourself. which you’ll find out yourself was not the greatest idea. sitting up straight you look directly at him with a hand on his shoulder.

“wait don’t tell me, you’re moving? you got early acceptance to ohio state? if so and you’re only telling me now i’m going to murd— or no have you gotten yourself a girlfriend because god knows you nee—“wally shakes his head barely scoffing a laugh.

“no, that is not what i’m gonna tell you! now can you please stop talking? i practiced in front of my mirror for this.” practicing in-front the mirror for what? you tilt your head confused, but turn it upright immediately when another thought comes to mind.

“are you going to show me that stupid dances you’ve been learning because—“

“no! y/n let me say what i need to say before i vomit on your shoes.”

“hold on wha—“

“oh my god y/n! i like you! okay! i like you. god i asked you to not talk and yet you did.”

your heart drops and the sour feeling only heightens. wally on the other hand is frustrated and embarrassed because of your interruptions and his sudden outburst to you. it was uncalled for, he knows. high on his emotions the quarterback stands up from his spot and starts walking down the hill, ruffling his hair in frustration. cheeks red from both embarrassment and the cold. can’t believe you just confessed to her like that! horrible wally clark. now she’s not gonna even want to accept your confession. ‘vomit on your shoes’ what kind of line is that? seriously.

he groans, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he continues down the path. not even bothered to see if you’re following him, he probably just ruined your friendship for life. he’s never going to let himself live this down.

wally is mad at himself, not even you, he’s only a tad bit mad at you for you cutting him off but he’s more mad at himself— he shouldn’t have beaten around the bush, should’ve just told you there and then not have any cheesy climax to it; would’ve gotten it over with quickly. you watch wally walk off while you stay planted in your seat. still processing what happened. wait, wally clark just confessed to you, the man you’ve unknowingly devoted yourself for just confessed and you were interrupting him! what are you doing go after him! y/n go! you scramble from your spot. feeling guilty for cutting him off, you probably sent his confidence down the hill with him. god you felt horrible. “wally! wait!” you call from behind him almost tripping from the decline of the hill but with sportsmen instincts he catches you by your arm. “wally, oh my god. i’m sorry for cutting you off— i’m such a jerk for that.”you say as you pant for breath, your heart racing. you look at his side profile and he’s avoiding your gaze completely, moving his head to look to the side you’re not on. “it’s alright, let me just take you home.” a breath leaves you, take you home? that was the last thing you wanted right now “wally i—“ he cuts you off like you did to him earlier “y/n really, i accept your apology. let me— let me just take you home please.” he is dying from embarrassment at this point, might as well put him out of his misery. “but–“ you start while wally let’s out a hefty sigh and inhales harshly from his nose, rubbing the side of it with his thumb. “y/n can we just forget this all happened? it’s really late i’ll just get you home before anyone realizes your gone.” his tone is distant and really pulls at your heart strings, you didn’t want to forget about this, well some parts of it you wanted to remember like him confessing to you! but you didn’t mean to make him upset; he probably is thinking the worse right now and it’s all because of you, it’s all your fault.

you don’t say another word as you nod when wally briefly glances at you, his light touch on your arm leaves as he continues his walk to the car park. you follow behind quietly, guilt eating you up as you look at wally posture slump as he walks, he’s head hung low. looking small— all because of you.

the drive back to your house was even worse, it was quiet. no music no humming, nothing. just silence— you wanted to say something make it right again but you were afraid to worsen his mood more than you’ve already done. no farewells are exchanged when wally arrives in front of your home, he wanted to say something, anything but he just let the opportunity pass. although, just as you’re about to close the door, he murmurs a soft good night that you wish he could tell you looking in your eyes but instead his eyes stay downcast on the steering wheel. he doesn’t leave right away, he waits until you’re safely inside your house and then some more. he throws his head back wallowing in his emotions, he wished the earth would just swallow him up. when you get into your room, you peak through your blinds and see that wally is still there, you watch as he sits there, eyes closed and head back then he hits the wheel of his car a few times eliciting a gasp from you, feeling more guilty. eventually watching him depart from your street.

wally clark was avoiding you, you knew that much. after what happened that night wally began acting like you didn’t exist– as if you weren’t his best friend; as if he didn’t confess his feelings for you— which you’ve been thinking about for the last few days. it hurts, that wally’s acting so distant. he’s been hanging out with his jock friends— but you can tell his mood isn’t the same. usually preppy and extraverted, practices consuming his time and plans that pop out of thin air that keeps him busy so he doesn’t have to think about what happened with you, to distract him. you’ve tried calling him but it’s all been sent to voicemail or his mother ends up answering the phone, you could tell but it hasn’t been to easy for wally either. he feels like a dick for being this way after what happened but he’s just not ready to face you— face you’re rejection, face the embarrassment, face the spot in his heart for you that he now has to make disappear. he’s just not ready.

this whole wally avoiding you thing has gone longer than you both had expected— you, you were counting the days until wally spoke to you again and honestly you are becoming more concerned with how this is dragging out. you miss your best friend for goddess sake! you miss his corny jokes, his contagious laughter, his habit of running his hands through his had, how excited he gets when he see’s dogs on the street. you just miss him... you miss everything about him, your constant now gone. unfortunately you never end up getting the time to talk to him and by now its been months, now the homecoming game you plan on talking to him after the game. no excuses, no if, ands or buts can interfere with the dire need of bringing him back to you.

the chilly air nips at your cheeks as you stand in the bleachers watching the game. you were never a sports fan especially for football but when your best friend’s whole personality is devoting himself to the sport— not even for him but for his family, you had no choice but getting yourself used to the sport. you went to every game, however far it was you went. distance didn’t hinder your support for him. the game feels aching long and the constant cheering from both schools make it hard for you to focus, you just wanted things to be okay with him. you didn’t want to keep this cold war between the two of you.

now in the second half, you watch from the stands as wally takes a seat onto the metal bench. his mother right behind him. the conversation must be tense because as soon as the finish speaking. he’s up on his feet again. your chest tightening at the thought of how much pressure he’s under right now. you hold your breath as you watch wally catch the ball, running towards the the five yard line when a linebacker runs straight into him, tackling him— wally breaking his fall. you let out a shuttering breath as you watch him, your best friend lie there on the field and it feels as if time stops; you stand on the bleachers in disbelief. praying to some higher up that he’s okay and just being dramatic before getting up like he always does… but that never happens. all air is taken from your chest as you dreadfully walk down the bleachers, hoping this was some sick dream you were bound to wake up from. clamors of terror and commotion fill the stadium as the beloved football player is declared dead on the field. tears are streaming down your face, watching his body being carried in a black body bag that he would’ve joked about it being a tacky way of being taken out.. but theres no room for that you’ve never felt so empty, so helpless as you do in this moment. now never being able to accept is confession, apologize, make a amends. there was no future for you without him.

all wally can see is black, a dark abyss that consumes his vision as he feels weightless, as if he isn’t in his body. an out of body experience that he hopes to recover from. that he’s just in a coma and he’ll be reunited with you and tell you all the things he didn’t get to tell you sooner. his mind is consumed by the thought of you, even before the accident he wanted to see you, talk to you, hold you in his arms but when he opens his eyes he’s greeted by the bright lights of the football field. being completely alone in the stadium. still in his uniform. he sits up dazed and confused. he feels fine, if anything he feels like a whole new person as if he’s been given a second chance in living but what he’ll soon to find out, its not in the way he thinks. he feels a bit light headed as he stands and his eyes immediately landing on a figure when he had thought he was alone. he shouts to get their attention to no avail, confused; he continues to shout walking closer to them. as he gets closer he realizes it’s you with your head in your hands and yours shoulders shaking as you wail to your hearts content. he calls out to you, at first soft but then more desperate as you don’t hear him. he feels frustrated as tears of his own stream down his face.

he cries “yn, sweetheart please, please.” his chest tightening at the sounds of your crying. pleading, begging. a mantra repeating under his breath. he doesn’t want this to be it, to be over for him, for you. he can’t lose you. he doesn’t know where he is, how he got here and he especially doesn’t understand why you can’t hear or see him. if this what death is like he thinks he landed in hell.

wally doesn’t notice the man standing by the entrance. the man that he’ll soon find out is a guide into understanding what exactly is happening and coming to terms with the fact that he’s dead and will never be able to live the life he wanted with you. instead he’ll watch you grow without him as he’ll stay forever eighteen.

‘wallowing wally’ is the nickname rhonda had come up for him. jason chides rhonda for picking on the mourning boy but she insists it was to lighten the mood, the outcome being the complete opposite. when he was first introduced to the group he was quiet, timid, distant. the others understood the feelings and recent thoughts about the afterlife at split river and had assumed he would grow out of it. but no, it continues and rhonda’s continuous jokes about his behavior being the complete opposite to the boisterous quarterback he once was— but that guy since died along with his corpse. he’s now just a shell of who he was.

it was hard for him to watch you at first, he didn’t see you for weeks after his death but when you finally came back to school. you were an entirely different person; you looked paler, bags under your eyes, lifeless as you walked down the halls with soft murmurs about your appearance as you walk by. his heart shatters into pieces watching you, sitting alone during breaks. staring into space during class completely dissociative during class. you distanced yourself from your peers and never responded when someone gave you condolences about your best friend, just nodding then walking away. your were mourning the death of him and he couldn’t handle watching it. you’re hurting at his expense and it’s breaking his already shattered heart that can’t be mended.

so he distanced himself from you. like he did at the end of his life, he couldn’t bare to see you hurt so he spent most of his days on the rooftop. only coming down for snacks or to catch up with the others  but then back at his spot. never going to group because he didn’t want to talk about it. how a little of guilt sits in him everyday watching you mourn for him. days blur by and eventually wally extends to the stadium— he’s bitter, yes that he died during a game, without a fight but it was easier for him to get over compared to you. he will never get over you. he takes his time walking onto the field, closer he sees the memorial left for him. his picture surrounded by candles, flowers, notes and other things left by other students. he’s consumed by the notes and messages his peers left him that he doesn’t realize jason joining him.

“wally” he calls, the boy turns with his hands shoved in his varsity jacket. looking over at the latter with a questioning look. watching the male with his hand over his face shielding him from the sun.

“there’s something i think you wanna see.” as much as he doesn’t want to follow jason or be lead into his trap of being forced into group he couldn’t help the feeling of interest that fills him. as expected they’re towards the gym and as wally is about to protest jason interjects with strong statements about something being there for him. for the first time wally feels hopeful, that something happened— miraculously. he follows jason into the gym. the sight of the circle of chairs in the corner of the gym prominent in his vision but now he sees an extra person taking up another seat. he wasn’t aware that another death had happened at the school and if there was he would’ve been there. heard the sounds of death within the walls. he gets closer and closer, expectant of what jason kept hyping him up about. he’s about to inquire what it is when his eyes land on you. sitting in his seat, he stares at you in disbelief. you dont notice him at first and he takes is as a time to take up you appearance. one that he hasn’t seen in a while.

you look healthier, definitely healing from the homecoming game. you’re wearing a stripped sweater he had lent you, slightly oversized and a pair of dark wash jeans and your beat up converse. the only piece sticking out from your ensamble was the beige apron, stained with clay. it’s quiet around the group before mr. martian walks inside greeting the others.

“wally finally joining us i see.” that name catches your attention. you look up from the gym floor to your recently deceased best friend. your breath hitched, blood running cold, were your eyes deceiving you? you had just seen him died moths ago, the vision still etched in your mind and now suddenly he’s standing in front of you like he’s fine. you think your gonna throw up. wally never expected for his to happen, he didn’t expect for you to react by running out of the gym with your hand over your mouth… it was all to much but the feeling in his heart makes him run after you.  he doesn't know where you went at first but the rounds of retching in the girls bathroom makes him suspect that you’re in there.

“sweetheart, i know you’re in there and i’m not gonna go in there… for obvious reasons but i-i just want to talk.” wally runs his hand over his face, feeling stupid for what he just said. he had such a habit for blabbering even if it was a serious situation. still he just can’t believe you can see him, as much as he wanted to know how you dies; he pushes that thought to the back of his mind, his main focus was making things right with you. he stands by the door waiting for you to finish. he can hear the toilet flushing, then the stall door and the faucet running. his nerves are through the roof as he hears you footsteps come closer. he calls out your name softly as you walk out, ready to be on his knees begging you to forgive him, for what he did, ignoring you for so long, not giving you the time of day. he’s ready for you to yell and shout at him, slap him if you wanted to. he was ready for it. instead, the second you walk out you pull him into a tight hug. noticing the absence of your apron, shoving that thought behind. he bends over a bit to accommodate the height difference. he immediately wraps his arms around you, relishing in your body heat. he’d missed you so much that he almost forgot what it felt like to be in your presence but now that you’re here, there’s no need to worry for that anymore. the hug lasts for a while and soon the wet feeling of tears coat wally’s neck and varsity jacket as you silently cry into his shoulder. he soothingly rubs your back and gently rocking you back and forth, trying his best to comfort you while not trying to cry himself. your knees buckle and he easily catches you, whispering soft nothings to you. it takes you sometime to calm down. nevertheless he waits. listening to your cries become softer, hiccuping for breath as you slowly depart from him.

"i missed you." you tremble in a whisper. he gives you a sad smile cupping your cheek in his hand, gently swiping your tears away.

"i missed you too, sweetheart. fresh tears form on your waterline, eyebrows scrunched you grasp his face, pulling him into a kiss. he's astounded, the feeling of your lips on his was one he dreamt about for years, now here it is and he's standing there like an idiot not kissing you back. his grasps at your waist, the kiss is different from any he's never experienced. it's slow and passionate. you've been yearning for each other for  years, dancing around the potential of where your relationship can go. you're tired of waiting even after death. you relish in the way you lips feel on his after feeling so lost without him with all that emotion you’ve bottled up when you realize that you're in love with him. words cannot express how much he has an affect of you and he can say the same thing about you.  you both pull away a little breathless. you've been waiting to do that for years and wally is a bit envious that you beat him to it. your foreheads are pressed softly together, just standing in each others presence. it's a soft, intimate moment.

"i thought i was never going to see you again." you begin looking into wally's eyes. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, urging you to continue. “i thought i would've never be able to tell you how i feel. i-i was going to tell you after the football game but... you know.” wally stiffens, he can only assume what you'll say next but whether you break his heart of make his dreams come true. his feelings for you won't change.

“wally, you mean so much to me. you're my rock, always there for me when i need you. no matter what is it— if it was helping me pick out outfits when you hate to shop or picking me up from a disastrous date. i didn't know what it would be like to live without you until it actually happened. i felt lost, i felt like i didn't have a purpose without you. like a part of me died when you did. you give me direction, a purpose. wally clark, i love you. i love everything about you. you're little habits, the things you hate about yourself i love it all." tears are free falling again when you finish and wally's eyes are blurred with tears as he looks at you with all the love and adoration in the world. he lets out a laugh and your face almost twists into hurt when he immediately brings you close by the waist, standing at full height. he reassures you almost immediately.

"stealing my thunder again huh sweetheart?" he jokes, a smile on his face. it's hard to stay mad at him, especially with that face— trying your best to keep a stoic face while he speaks. "i was supposed to say it first." he pouts. and you shake your head, a smile peeking from your lips but you remain. he brings his hand to cup your cheek and the other on the small of your back. "but i couldn't have said it better than you. you're the only one i think understands me the best, you see right through me and can tell if i'm having a bad day or hiding something. you supported me through my football career especially when my parents seemed like they cared more about the sport than their own son. you defend me, protect me— even though i feel like i should be doing that with you. you make me feel special. i love you and i always wanted to tell you that. no matter what you do, make me sad or mad. i'll always love you."

you flush at his words, feeling small in his embrace. your feelings have never felt so strong and it honestly felt a little overwhelming, but seeing the smile on his face eases you. you lean into his touch, your throat tightening at the new thoughts looming your mind.

"what if i'm not good enough for you.” your voice comes out strained, strong with emotion. he interjects immediately. insisting that there was no one else out that that could change his mind. you were it for him. he pours his heart out to you and you the same.  a smile graces you face and wally swears his heart melts. he'll do anything to protect that smile on your face til the day he dies... again.

"it's me and you against the world, sweetheart." he kisses the crown of your head, taking your hand and pulling you down the hall. maybe death isn’t so bad after all.

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